The really unexpected affair
by MLaw
Summary: Napoleon and Illya, as a favor toAlexander Waverly, are asked to perform escort duty, but what should be a leisurely assignment turns out to be anything but that.
1. It's a long way to Tipperary

"Ah sure t'is fine soft weather we're having today gentleman, where are you from yourselves?" The taxi driver chatted on." And what brings you here to _Bun an Tábhairne?"_ The Cork dialect was almost musical, and with an oddly "sing-songy" ring to it, but it was difficult to understand the man, even though he was speaking English. At least that's what the UNCLE agents seated in the back of the cab thought was being spoken.

"Beg pardon but, Bunnan what?" Illya asked.

"Ah sure t'is clear you don't have de Irish now do you?"

Kuryakin was a linguist extraordinaire, but Gaelic was one that escaped him at present, though it was on his list to learn along with Scottish and Welsh. Since they weren't mainstream languages, learning them was as not imperative.

He'd already mastered most of the Slavic and Baltic tongues as they were related. Given he'd grown up hearing many of them made the task easier.

The Germanics, as well as the Romance languages of French, Italian and Spanish were also under his belt. He spoke Arabic, and a number of the countless sub-middle Eastern dialects. He was lacking in the African tongues, having only recently learned some Yoruba and Swahili but not enough to get by just yet.

He had a mastery of Chinese ...both Cantonese and Mandarin along with Japanese, Vietnamese and Filipino. There were a fair few other languages of southeast Asia he'd been working on just in case. One never knew where Alexander Waverly would send them.

However, this Celtic language group was quite different from any other he'd encountered. There were similar words that ran the gamut of Western European languages such as familials like father, mother and so forth, but that was the only link he could find.

There were six different Celtic tongues, Irish, Scottish, Welsh, Breton, Manx, Cornish. Though the last two were near dead languages and learning them would be useless, but if only for an academic sidebar.

Kuryakin had no time for sidebars...

"Ahh we're here to see a man about a boat," Napoleon intervened. The last thing he needed was Illya embarking on an impromptu linguistic study.

"Sure t'is Cobh you want den; you could take the Cork City bus dere, as it runs all day long. I would take you near farty minutes. I'd drive you myself but I stay pretty local, since the old _gluaistean_ (car) is getting up there in years, and of course my lovely wife Bláthínaid, that means 'little flower in da Gaelic by da way; she couldn't be parted from me for dat long. We've been married now for nearly twenty-five years and she being as gairgeous as da day I met her.

The driver drew from his pocket an old photograph of rather portly buck-toothed woman, and if Solo didn't know better, he'd say her eyes were crossed.

"Bless her heart and may she rest in peace." The driver suddenly said.

"She is dead?" Illya looked a quite bewildered.

"She went to God ten years ago now. I visit her grave once each morning to share my tea with her, den midday and once before I go home for da evening. Sure she'd be lonely widout hearing my voice."

Though intrigued, Kuryakin didn't dare ask what _gluaistean_ meant for fear it would send the man off another tangent. It was bad enough the fellow was waxing poetic about his dear dead wife.

"No Crosshaven is our destination,"Napoleon interrupted.

"Then t'is here you want to be," the taxi pulled up to the docks. "Da village of _Bun an Tábhairne_ is going to be home to the Royal **Cork** Yacht Club come next year. Da hoi polloi come in here for a yearly regatta but _is mora trua sin (more's the pity)_ dat won't be happening until week next. How long is it you'll be visiting us?"

Not receiving an answer the man continued on with his blathering. He spoke fast and his sentences seemed to run into each other, leaving the UNCLE agents at a loss to respond.

"Dere isn't much else here for you to see, as we're really a simple fishing village...now fishing, if you want to do dat den…"

"No thank you," Napoleon again interrupted, barely able to get what the man was saying."We're meeting someone here... _and there she is,_ " he nearly sighed in relief, pointing to a yacht moored at the dock.

"Thank you for the lift," Illya quickly exited the small taxi and popping the boot, he retrieved their suitcases. Solo paid the driver and gave him a salute.

"I thought you said you were meetin' a man?"

"That was just a figure of speech. Good day and thank you." Napoleon closed the car door but as he turned away,he could still hear the driver talking a mile a minute about something. Dismissing him; Solo stopped for a moment, breathing in the strong salt air before he followed after his partner.

Illya had already headed out to the dock. It was an assignment he wasn't looking forward to, crossing the Irish Sea on a boat; he was convinced he'd be seasick on this one, but resigned himself to it. This job hadn't been ordered but was more a request by Alexander Waverly and refusal of such an entreaty just wasn't done.

The American was impressed, sizing it up to be a forty-five footer. Being a boatman himself, he couldn't wait to get on board and man the helm.

"Illya, Napoleon!" A dark-haired woman wearing a **sky blue** dress that fluttered in a strong off shore breeze, waved at them from the deck. It was Maude Waverly, though now Kensington. She'd married a British businessman and was going to sail the family yacht back to England.

As a favor to their boss Solo and Kuryakin were escorting Mrs. Kensington across the Irish Sea to Lytham St. Annes on the coast in Lancashire.

Though the crossing might not be to Illya's liking, Napoleon was looking forward to this brief respite. He missed sailing his own yacht, and though he disliked being 'in' the water, sailing on it was a different story. To him it was like visting a very unpredicatable lover; she could be calm or she could show you a wild time. Either way, the thought made Solo's heart beat a little faster...


	2. Sailing sailing over the bounding main

Napoleon and Illya walked up the ramp to the deck of "The **Vouchsafe,** " a rather odd name Solo thought, but dismissed it as soon as he saw Maude. She looked wonderful as she dashed across deck, greeting he and Illya each with a hug and a kiss.

Once the pleasantries were exchanged the agent's luggage was stowed in their cabin where they took a few mintues to freshen up.

They returned topside having changed to more appropriate clothing for their boat trip. Solo, dashing as ever, wore white pants and shirt, with a bright **yellow** cravat. Completing his ensemble was a navy blazer. Illya had simply switched to his usual black turtleneck with a dark green wind breaker, a pair of blue jeans. Unlike his partner who wore white deck shoes, Kuryakin settled for a pair of black canvas sneakers.

The steward brought drinks as they settled in for a chat before weighing anchor. Solo presumed his sailing skills would come in handy, thinking that was why he was asked to do this by Waverly, with Illya merely coming along for the ride, so to speak.

Given he and Illya had been in the vicinity, they were chosen for the honor...that is if you could call Norway that that close?

"I can't help but wonder why Uncle Alexander insisted you join me," she huffed after taking a sip of her vodka gimlet. "I've done this trip before, though it was with my husband Charles. Still it's so good to see you both again."

"Ours is not to reason why dear Maude," Napoleon raised his glass. "Here's to smooth sailing." In reality he knew the Irish Sea could be quite unpredictable at times.

"Oh I nearly forgot Illya...here." Maude held out a small bottle. "It's seasick pills. I also have ginger and cola as I recalled you telling me once they helped."

"Thank you for thinking of me." Illya graciously accepted the pills, trying to put being seasick out of his head. The wind gusts and choppiness hitting the harbor waters were making the boat already rock uncomforably. Queasiness had set in from the moment he stepped on board, forcing him resigned himself to the fact this journey was not going be a pleasant one.

Once motoring out of port and at Maude's insistence Napoleon took over the helm from the Captain. That made Solo feel he'd enjoy himself a bit on this thrip, though in truth he was tired from the mission in Norway and would have much preferred heading home to New York.

She stood beside him, watching the twinkle of delight in his eyes as the Vouchsafe cut through the rolling waves, sending spray across the bow of the boat.

"You really love sailing don't you?".

"There's little else that compares to it for the feeling of freedom. I have my own boat, just a thirty footer called the Pursang; she's sleek and can hold her own."

Poor Illya, despite the remedies, had sequestered himself aft with a bucket held between his knees. The crew was completely sympathetic to his condition as even the best of seamen could get hit by seasickness. Periodically Maude sent her steward Niles to check on him, not wanting to possibly embarrass the Russian by looking in on him herself.

The sea started out particularly rough and that made it even worse for Illya as he couldn't even go below to lay down. That would have made him feel all the worse as the rocking and rolling would churn up his stomach even more.

They weren't at sea long though when the waters, surprisingly, began to calm, turning it into a bright but cool sunny day. The winds dyiing down brought the captain to take over the helm and engage the powerful motors until they could make way under sail again.

Kuryakin hadn't taken the pills Maude had given him until they were well under way, and finally they'd kicked in; with the ginger and warm cola in his stomach, he began to feel better at last.

"Luncheon will be served shortly Madam," Niles, announced. "Prawn risotto with a tossed salad. Might I suggest a simple bowl of rice for the gentleman until his stomach has settled?"

"Thank you Niles but I will be fine. Prawns are a favorite of mine," Illya wasn't about to miss out on a good meal because of an little upset stomach; that's what he called it, but Napoleon knew better.

The mind was willing but the flesh was not and Kuryakin was able to eat very little. The medication he'd taken was making him feel drowsy and he excused himself, finally heading below to the cabin.

"Poor Illya, he does seem to get the worst of it at times doesn't he?" Maude asked.

"I guarantee he'll be fine once he gets some sleep. He has a surpising ablity to recover very quickly from just about anything," Napoleon changed the subject." So tell me a little bit about this husband of yours?" He'd never met the man, nor heard Mr. Waverly speak of him so he was a bit curious. He always thought Maude was a bit of a catch, and wondered how the Brit had managed to snare her.

"Oh Charles is quite the dashing figure, not unlike yourself," she smiled. He's fairly wealthy as you can tell by the yacht. We live in this wonderful old mansion that blongs to the Kensington family. He's a sportsman, playing polo, tennis and golf...and a yachtsman as well. Our home is in Lytham St. Annes by the Sea. It's renowned for the game of golf by the way. His family helped start the Royal Lytham & St. Annes Golf Club, one of the host courses for the British Open Championship. Once every ten years, so I'm told, the coming of this major event brings an influx of visitors into what is usually a peaceful fishing community. "

Napoleon refrained from commenting that the man obviously didn't work for a living, and envisioned a snooty playboy. He was surprised that the lure of money might have attracted Maude as she always seemed like such a level headed girl.

"So there's nothing going on at home that seems odd or out of place?" He suddenly asked.

"No, everything is fine with Charles. Why did you ask?"

"Maude you know your Uncle better than anyone; don't you think it's a bit odd he'd send his two best agents to accompany you home for no apparent reason?"

She cocked her head, tapping her index finger atop her lips as she thought.

"Well, there have been some odd goings on around the town. People acting...not like themselves."

"In what way?"Napoleon leaned forward.

"They've stopped being as friendly as they had been when I first came to live at the mansion. The seem to scurry away when I'm around, like they're afraid of me."

"Anything else you've noticed?"

"Well come to think of it...I've stopped seeing children. There used to be scads of them running about in the village, playing as children do. I had just assumed they all went back to boarding school, or something like that. Wait, what am I thinking? That can't be right, it's still summer."

"What about younger children...babies, toddlers?"

"No. Isn't that strange? I never thought anything of it until now. Do you think something is going on that Uncle Alexander hasn't told us about?"

"Maude, let's say your Uncle never does anything without good reason."


	3. I'm a lover not a fighter

The Vouchsafe motored into the estuary of the River Ribble, anchoring just off shore. Not far off was a covered pier, the Promenade, Maude called it.

At the moment the many pylons supporting it were exposed, making it resemble an immense centipede that jutted out along the sand.

It had been built during the Victorian era as a pleasure pier, with A Tudor-style entrance added in 1899 along with more addtions that included a Moorish-style pavilion built just after the turn of the century, followed by a Floral Hall in 1910. it was supposed to be a sedate promenading venue for visitors, but attractions were later added on, making it somewhat of a riverside attraction.

"I guess if we'd caught the high tide," Napoleon said," we'd have been able to moor there at the pier.

"I'm afraid not," the captain said."Changes made to the estuary channels to improve access to Preston Dock up river left the pier on dry land, and in doing so it ended steamer services to Blackpool and Liverpool. I'm afraid you'll have to go ashore via the dinghy."

After helping Maude and the others down to the small boat a crewman rowed them to the shore where they were met by a pair of burly looking men, who eyed the UNCLE agents with suspicion.

"Welcome home Missus," one of them doffed his cap."The Master be waitin' for you at the big 'ouse. Says 'e wants you to come there right 'way."

A shiny copper colored Rolls-Royce was parked nearby, waiting to take them to Kensington manor.

Illya let out a whistle upon seeing the vehicle. "A Drophead Coupé?" He said aloud.

"Oh it's the newest model, the Silver Cloud II convertible,"Maude laughed. "This is just the everyday car. Charles has a half-dozen more in the garage. Sports Cars, roadsters...I think. I can't keep track of his toys."

Kuryakin cocked an eyebrow, casting a glance at his partner who simply shrugged. Her blaisé attitude was a change to which the both of them were unaccustomed.

The ride through the countryside was quite lovely, and as they approached the Kensington estate, they saw it was surrounded by a tall brick wall.

Large iron gate guarded the entrance but they opened automatically; Napoleon spotted a small camera on the wall above. Someone inside must have controlled the opening and closing of the gate. He wondered why there was need for such security in an area noted for its serenity.

Once inside, the landscaped grounds were even more spectacular, neatly appointed with every kind of shade tree and countless flower gardens.

"Gorgeous isn't it?" Maude asked. "There's a fully stocked pond if you feel like doing some fishing. It's so peaceful there. I just love to sit and listen to the sound of the water and the birds singing happily away."

"Yes it is quite an idyllic setting,"Illya remarked," but perhaps a bit tranquil for my tastes."

"Oh we have stables if you'd care to go riding. I believe we even have one of those Russian Cossack horses... what are they called again?"

"Don? You have a Don horse?"

"Yes, that's it. He's a stallion, a bit on the wild side though." She could see the Russian perk up upon hearing that.

"I would very much like to see him."

That's a promise," Maude smiled. "Well we're here."

The rolls pulled up along the gravelled roundabout in front of a large stone house. Mansion seemed inadequate as it looked more like a small castle.

A mustachioed man dressed in a tweed jacket with suede shoulder pads, breeches and a pair of Wellingtons stepped out. Draped over his arm was an open shotgun.

Napoleon eyed the weapon, but being a clotheshorse; he admired the man's taste, noting the shirt was a darker tattersall pattern, loosely cut to prevent restricting movement. No doubt he was wearing braces to ensure the breeks stayed up.

The man doffed his matching tweet cap revealing a dark head of hair while flashing a handsome smile.

"Darling, welcome home," he eyed the men accompanying her,"and who might I ask are your companions? You should have told me you were bringing company my sweet?"

Maude dashed to him, letting him kiss her on the cheek. She turned, gesturing towards the agents. "Charles dearest, these are friends of my Uncle Alexander. I'd like to introduce Mr. Napoleon Solo and Mr. Illya Kuryakin...this is my husband, Charles Kensington III."

Napoleon shook the man's hand, while Illya simply nodded. "Apologies. We were, umm...stranded in Ireland and Maude was kind enough to offer us a lift here to England."

"Yes Charles. I've invited them to stay for a few days, before they're off to London on business."

"And what business is that may I ask?

Solo went right into cover-mode. "Mr. Kuryakin and I are in the import-export business. I'm the American representative and he's the Dutch representative for a company that specializes in novelty items. Perhaps you've heard of us, Acme novelty?"

Kensington didn't hesitate to look down his nose at that. "Not exactly my cup of tea old man. Well, ahem...yes. We all have to have something to do, don't we?"

Napoleon bristled at that, taking exception to his remark but bit his tongue, saying nothing but Illya, known for mouthing off, was about to say something.

Sensing he would say something a bit uncouth; Maude quickly interrupted, "Charles, the men meeting the dinghy said you wanted me back here immediately. Is there a problem?"

"Problem? None what so ever, I merely wanted to greet you before I left for the hunt. I won't be back for a few days, as I'm heading north with the lads. Do you stalk Mr. Solo?

"Only the gorgeous female kind sir, and usually for a date.

"Ahh but there's the skill involved and the thrill of the hunt in the field, quite different I must say.

"I'm a lover, not a fighter," Napoleon smiled.

Hmm,why doesn't that surprise me? Well I'm off. Ta!" Kensington bounded down the steps as a covered jeep arrived and he climbed into the passenger seat, not even giving Maude a second glance."

"I wonder why he did not ask me?" Illya leaned over, whispering to Solo.

"Sorry about that Napoleon," Maude said." Charles is rather single-minded when it comes to his hunting and he's accustomed to dealing with people who are involved in high powered corporations. I don't think he meant to be snobbish. Now please come on inside. I'll have Cavendish show you to your rooms."

"Welcome home Mum," the grey-haired butler greeted her at the door, giving her a slight bow.

"Hello Cavendish. We have two guests. This is Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin. They'll be staying with us for a few days."

"Gentlemen this way if you please," he spoke in a deep monotone voice, direct and to the point, like so many others in his profession.

Cavendish snapped his fingers and a young man quickly appeared, picking up Napoleon and Illya's duffle bags that had been brought in by the driver, along with Maude's trunk. "Please show our guests to their rooms William. The rooms in the West wing.

"Yes sir Mr. Cavendish, right 'way," a fresh-faced young man, appeared out of no where, looking to be around the age of seventeen or so.

Their rooms were opulent, filled with antique furnishings and Persian rugs. The four-poster bed in Napoleon's room was replete with a canopy, all watched over by a suit of armor standing guard just inside the doorway.

He changed from his traveling clothes to a sports jacket and tie and was looking at himself in the mirror checking his hair, when he heard Illya's knock at the door.

Kuryakin stepped in, he too having changed to his usual black suit, but with a dark grey polo shirt; a bit more casual look than his partner.

"I never would have thought Maude Waverly capable of embracing such a bourgeois lifestyle. Look at these wealthy trappings. The money spent here could feed several families for years."

"Careful tovarisch your Socialism slip is showing again."

"What?"

"Nevermind. Illya don't you think us coming here is rather suspicious. Why would Mr. Waverly have sent us for no good reason, really. To have us babysit Maude and her crew, who had no problem crossing the Irish Sea was a bit odd, don't you think?"

"Perhaps we should contact him to let him know his niece has safely arrived, at which time he might enlighten us as to what might be going on, if anything."

"My thoughts exactly." Napoleon picked up his communicator from the dresser.

"Open Channel D-overseas relay. Solo."

"Good evening, or rather should I say good afternoon Mr. Solo. Have you arrived at Lytham St. Anne?

"Yes sir we are at the Kensington manor house as we speak."

"And the trip was uneventful I take it?"

"So far, yes."

"Hmmm, yes."

"Yes? Sir is there something you want to tell me?"

"Mr. Solo, I'm afraid I've sent you to England under false pretenses. Did my niece happen to mention anything to you that seemed odd or out of place?"

"Only after I prompted her. I had a feeling about you sending us to babysit her more than it appeared to be."

"Well, ahem," Waverly cleared his throat,"and I had a feeling you would, question her that is. There seems to be something afoot in the village of Lytham St. Annes. One of the locals contacted our London office about a concern. What exactly did my niece say?"

It was obvious the Old Man was dancing around the subject, which was unlike him. It was rare that he would mince words, but perhaps because of Maude, he was holding back.

"She did say something about the townies suddenly becoming less friendly towards her, and she also mentioned there seemed to be rather odd that she no longer saw any children. It's as if they just disappeared from the sounds of it. Though I still need to investigate and verify that fact. The villager who contacted London...is there a name?"

"The person wishes to remain anonymous, however, the information they gave is correct according to what you've just told me. I didn't want to speak to my niece directly regarding it and arouse any suspicions. I have since discovered that her new husband may, the truth of which it isn't confirmed yet, has had dealings with THRUSH. For what purposes, I do not know. That coupled with the mysterious disappearances of the local children is more than enough to warrant our investigation...discreet of course, as I do not want my niece dragged into this if at all possible. We do know how she likes to jump into the fray so to speak. I want her to remain completely innocent and out of danger in this affair. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," Illya answered this time."We will be the model of discretion."

"That's what I'm afraid of Mr. Kuryakin. Gentlemen, report to me as soon as you have uncovered anything of interest. Waverly out."

"What did he mean by that?" Illya asked.

"Well you do have a tendency to leap before looking."

Illya's face flushed pink, before he smiled. "I guess I do, but I usually do it with good reason. He's most assuredly aware that by you question Maude has already gotten her involved, his liking it or not.

"Well, just be a bit more careful Illya. Waverly is right; the last thing we need is Maude trying to play spy especially if her husband is, shall we say, sleeping with the enemy."

"That might explain a few things, his dealings with THRUSH, that is."

"What do you mean?" Solo asked.

"The opulent home, the yacht, cars and servants; I suspect might be just a bit much for a man living off a family inheritance, do you not think?"

"Hmm, given his supposed dealings with our feathered friends, he must have something he's been able to offer them. Let's do a background check on him, business wise."

Napoleon opened a channel to the London office; the Intelligence Section.

"Hello Napoleon, Maisy here. How've you been ducks? When am I going to see you again?"

"It might be some time as I'm not sure how this current assignment will play out. I need some information if you please."

"Sure, how can I help you luv?"

"I need the background on Charles Kensington III of Lytham St. Annes, specifically his business holdings, and companies with which he may be involved."

"Just a tic."

He could hear the computers whirring in the background, pulling up the information for him.

"Charles Kensington was born and raised in Lytham St. Annes. His grandfather once worked at the Preston Docks. where he managed parlayed a small steamship business into a quite a successful operation. The family made their fortune until the steamship business foundered with the changes made to the estuary of River Ribble. The Kensington family seems to have been in financial decline for years."

"Any business holdings by Charles the third?" Illya asked.

"None that I can see. His name doesn't come up anywhere, not even an employment history."

"Thanks Maisy, I'll be in touch. Solo out. "Me thinks Kensington's dealings with THRUSH just might be the cash cow that's been keeping his lavish lifestyle a float."

"Napoleon, there a remote possibility that Maude might be involved somehow. Granted she is by far an intelligent woman but how could she not be aware of what her husband is or is not doing?" Illya asked.

"They say love is blind Illya, and let's hope that's the case with her."


	4. The planning begins

Napoleon and Illya returned downstairs and were shown to the drawing room by Cavendish. Maude was there, having a glass of sherry, and offered the boys drinks but both men declined.

"How about a tour of the house, and Illya if you're good we can head down to the stables later on so I can introduce you to the horses."

"Sounds good to me,"Napoleon replied.

"And to me as well,"Illya added, though the two agents had some ulterior motives regarding Kuryakin and the horses. They needed to come up with a plausible excuse to stay for more than just a few days; Maude wouldn't care, where as husband might.

The house was filled with unimaginable antiques, oil painting as well as magnificent tapestries that looked quite old, but were in fabulous condition at the end of the tour they ended up in the conservatory and in it a grand piano, replete with a sterling silver candelabra sitting atop it.

"Do you play Maude," Illya asked.

"No, neither does Charles. i'm not quite sure why we have it as none of our other visitors could play either. Do you?"

"As a matter of fact he does,"Napoleon answered." tovarisch, care to give her a little demonstration?"

"Only if Maude wishes."

"Oh yes please? It would be wonderful to hear. It's in tune I'm sure, Charles would never let that happen. He has it tuned every month, like clockwork. The most my husband will do is tickle a few of the keys when he walks in here, shame to let such a beautiful instrument stay silent."

Upon hearing that both agents flashed a quick look at each other.

"Please Illya, play something for me?"

He sat at the piano bench, stretching his hands; he paused with his fingers above the keys for a moment while he composed himself.

It was a very recognizable melody, Debussy's Moonlight Sonata, one of Kuryakin's favorites. Illya seemed to lose himself in the piece as he played, before finally ending it.

Maude applauded enthusiastically. "Illya you're amazing! I had no idea you could play so beautifully."

"It is one of a few things I have picked up over the years," he gave her the barest of smiles.

"Perhaps you could play for us tonight after dinner. I have a few guests coming by...some lovely ladies, and no I didn't arrange it ahead of time Napoleon. They're just a few friends coming to welcome me home."

"It's good to know you have them,"Napoleon said," seeing as how your welcome in the village has seemed to have cooled."

"Yes it is odd, but then again it could be cultural memory coming out? The common folk keeping their distance from the upper class so to speak. I haven't done anything to make them think I'm a snob. I just don't know what I could have happened to make them withdraw like that."

After seeing the rest of the house Maude made good on her promise to take Illya down to the stables while Napoleon remailed behind, feigning a headache.

What he really wanted to do was was get a better look around the drawing room. What Maude had said about her husband playing a few keys, struck a chord with him, no pun intended.

.

"Well here he is Illya," Maude announced, stopping in front of a particular stall.

Inside stood a bright-eyed chestnut horse, its ears facing forward, alert to the visitors standing in front of it.

The name on the placard read 'Cossack Sun."

'An interesting title for a horse," Illya said.

"He was bred for racing, though Charles has chosen to use him for stud instead. He's gorgeous isn't he?

Illya held out his hand, letting the horse nuzzle it before petting him.

"Now that's surprising. Sunny doesn't let just anyone touch him."

"Sunny?"

"That's the nickname I gave him. It sounds so much happier than Cossack Sun, and less of a mouthful."

"May I try riding him tomorrow?"

"Are you sure you'd like to do that? He's a bit on the wild side."

"I am an experienced horseman, and have ridden a number of such wild Cossack horses back in Soviet Union."

.

As soon as Maude and Illya left Solo had started his search, looking for what he suspected might be the entrance to a secret passage perhaps. Old places such as Kensington Manor always had them, but for what purpose Charles might have made use of one; that remained to be seen.

Not knowing which keys on the piano to play would make it impossible to open said secret door, but there had to be signs there was one here somewhere.

He walked the perimeter of the room, checking bookcases, tipping some books thinking that might activate a switch. Napoleon looked at the furnishings, feeling around as much as he dared.

It wasn't until he came to the fireplace that he noticed some very light scratches on the hardwood floor, forming a slightly rounded pattern as if one side of the mantle swung outwards.

Just for good measure, he checked all around it ...the trim, moulding, even the pokers, but found nothing.

"May I help you sir?" Cavendish said; his voice coming from behind Napoleon.

Solo straightened up, silently berating himself for not hearing the man's approach.

"No thank you Cavendish, I was just admiring the mantle. My grandfather used to make them and I've always had an affinity for the old ones. This one is particularly beautiful."

"Aye sir. May I git ye anything, a drink perhaps?"

"A scotch on the rocks would be good."

"Och, on the rocks sir?"

"On second thought, I'll have single malt with water on the side."

"Yes sir," Cavendish bowed his head, hiding a bit of a smile.

Maude and Illya returned shortly from the stables, finding Solo still in the drawing room, sipping his whiskey.

"How are you feeling, a bit better?" She asked?"

"Yes much, this single malt is outstanding and doing me wonders," he raised the glass to her.

"Good, there's plenty more where that came from. It's Balvenie and quite pricey from what I understand. That's all that Charles keeps in his bar...I don't drink of course. I never developed a taste for alcohol."

"Balvenie? No wonder it's fantastic. It however, is a bit out of my range on my salary."

"Well Uncle Alex should give you a raise."

"Maude," he laughed," your Uncle is a Scotsman at heart, but I don't think he'd even consider a raise for me to buy buy even one bottle."

"I knew it was expensive but I didn't think it was that much. Well anyway, it's time for me to get ready for dinner. It's served promptly at seven, so you'll have more time to relax. We dress for dinner here and if you don't have anything appropriate then Cavendish can help you. Charles keeps a wardrobe just for such needs, for his guests that is."

"Do you entertain a lot?"

"Me, no. Charles does, usually with business associates. I dine with them and afterwards they come here to the drawing room to smoke their awful cigars. It's all hush hush this male bonding thing, behind closed doors. You don't smoke do either of you, by the way?"

"Only cigarettes from time to time," Illya answered,"but now is not the time."

Maude gave him one of those 'stop being a smart aleck' looks before retiring to her room.

Napoleon and Illya retreated upstairs to discuss their next move.

The Russian threw himself on his partner's bed, making himself comfortable.

"So tovarisch did you enjoy playing with the horsies?"

"Not as much as I would have liked to. Maude was exact in her description of the the Don stallion; he is quite lively to say the least."

"Too lively to ride?"

"Do not be ridiculous. A Cossack horse in the right hands is a thing of beauty."

"And you're saying your hands are the right ones."

"But of course,"Illya nodded, giving his partner a knowing smile.

"So tomorrow then?"

"Yes, I plan to do it after breakfast."

"Well be careful. I don't want you laid up for real."

"Napoleon I know what I am doing."

Solo raised his hands, cautioning his partner. "I know, but that doesn't mean I can't worry about you."

"Awww that is so sweet," Illya snickered." Do not worry mother, I will show the utmost caution. Now if you will excuse me, I am going to take a nap before dinner."

"Should I ask Cavendish to get some clothes for you?"

"What is wrong with my black suit? I can wear my white shirt and tie, that should be suitable."

"Illya I think she meant something more in the line of a dinner jacket and so forth."

The Russian huffed. "Fine, you know my size. Let Cavendish select something apropos then."

Napoleon shook his head as Illya's disdain for things of culture never ceased to amaze. Granted, Kuryakin had his own tuxedo with that awful ruffled shirt, so he acknowledged the need dress up at times.

Their previous assignment hadn't called for any such clothing, so the offer made by Maude was convenient, to say the least.

Thanks to Cavendish, they were both fitted with appropriately tailor dinner jackets replete with dress shirts, pants, and even bow ties.

"She wasn't kidding about what her husband keeps for outfitting his guests. You should have seen the wardrobe Illya; it was filled with expensive clothes in every imaginable size. There were enough suits in there for a man not to wear the same one twice in half a year."

"As I said," Illya fussed with his tie." Bourgeois and way beyond his financial means….Napoleon will you help me with this thing? I can never get bow ties straight."

Solo tied it again for his partner until he was satisfied, then checking his own tie in the mirror before they left the room and descended the stairs for drinks in the drawing room before dinner was served.


	5. Beauty is only skin deep

A bevy of British beauties were escorted to the drawing room by Cavendish, just in time for Napoleon and Illya to make their entrance.

Solo was grinning ear to ear as he saw the ladies, both of them quite beautiful and elegantly attired. One, a stunning brunette with long straight hair, the other a strawberry blonde with her hair done up in one of the current styles of the day, he believed it was a variation on the bouffant.

They were each clothed in designer tops and skirts replete with matching pill box hats; a fashion trend started by Jackie Kennedy no doubt. Their outfits made him think of Christmas as one was completely in mauve, the other woman in forest green.

"Ladies," Maude spoke up." I'd like you to meet my friends, Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin. They'll be staying with me for a few days before heading onto London."

"This is the Baroness Bibi Wentworth and Lady Amelia Gladstone."

"Enchante,"Napoleon greeted each woman with a bow and a kiss to their hands.

"Baroness, my Lady," Illya simply nodded his head as he clicked his heels together.

"Kuryakin? Hmm, that name sounds familiar to me. I once read of a Count Kuryakin; he was a member of the court of the late Tsar," Bibi remarked.

"Sorry madam, no relation as I am of the...Brooklyn Kuryakin's. Our family emigrated to the United States before the Russian revolution." In truth Illya knew full well she was referring to his grandfather Count Alexander Sergeivich Kuryakin.

Though he'd never met him, Illya's father and babushka told him many stories about the Count. He was surprised though, as he'd thought any records of the man's existence had been all but erased. The family never heard from him again and he died in the Solovki gulag in the Solovetsky Islands, located in the White Sea.*

Personal knowledge of his grandfather was a source of pride to the last member of the Kuryakin family, but it was a private honor, one Illya had been taught never to share with anyone. In the Soviet Union it was dangerous to have connections to aristocracy, even to this day.

Illya forced himself not to snicker; imagine what the woman would have thought if she knew his mother was a distant relation to the Romanovs? *

That surely would have meant a death sentence to Illya if anyone in the Kremlin knew that little tidbit. During the war, he had severals strikes against him. A grandfather who had been a Count, a mother who was a cousin the the Tsar, as well as gypsy blood through his paternal grandmother.

"But I detect an accent, not American though," Bibi interrupted his thoughts.

"Ah Baroness, you have a good ear. I was educated at the Sorbonne and at Cambridge in the study of physics." Illya kept his cover story simple, with a smattering of truth behind it. Less to remember that way.

"A learned man from...Brooklyn, how delightful, though I do find people involved in scientific pursuits to be rather stuffy," the Baroness cooed as if she were flirting with him, but at the same time she sounded rather condescending.

"Actually Mr. Kuryakin is a bit of a Renaissance man, as he's quite talented with the piano," Maude stepped in,"He's going to entertain us after dinner."

"Now that's refreshing," Lady Gladstone said." It's about time someone used that ridiculous piano. And you Mr. Solo, or may I call you Napoleon? Such an interesting name for one from the States. I would have expected a more simplistic name such as Bill or Bob." She put particular emphasis on the b's.

"Everyone in my family has, shall we say, interesting names. It's sort of a tradition.

"And what do you do Napoleon?"She asked.

"Do? Well actually Illya and I work for the Acme Novelty company, based out of New York. I am the American representative while Illya covers some of the European territory. There is a surprising interest world wide in the area of novelties."

"Novelties?" Both Bibi and Amelia looked somewhat surprised. "We have no need for such ridiculous frivolities," Bibi said.

"I find them rather childish, trinkets for the simple minded, don't you agree?" Amelia added.

Cavendish entered the room, saving the day, essentially with an announcement.

"Madam, dinner is served."

"Thank you Cavendish. Now enough chit chat," Maude said.

Illya offered his arm to her, leaving Napoleon to escort the other ladies to dinner, taking one on each arm.

The dinner was superb. After a tossed salad came Cornish game hens with apple, pear and walnut stuffing, served with wild rice and a mushroom sauce. Included in the feast here were rosemary-caramelized parsnips and roasted baby potatoes. Finally for dessert, crème brûlée.

Even Illya was stuffed, and that said a lot for the cooking as well as the portions.

The conversation was light, as the Baroness and her Ladyship were not exactly up on the latest of topics. It seemed that Maude was well aware of their shallowness, yet oddly counted them as her friends.

After dinner they retired to the conservatory for aperitifs while Illya gave his little performance. The guests were mildly delighted and showed their appreciation with a light round of applause.

It was getting late and the ladies said their goodnights; Napoleon being the gentlemen escorted them out to their car where he bid them a cold adieu Not soon enough as even Solo found very little that was attractive about the women, beyond their very well manicured looks.

The agents passed on any more drinks and said their goodnights to Maude, who was a bit taken back by their sedate behavior, much less heading off to bed so early.

Illya's excuse was that he wanted a good night's rest before going riding on Cossack Sun in the morning. Napoleon requested that Maude accompany him into town to show him around, just as a point of interest. In truth he wanted to get the lay of the land, and scout out anything that looked suspicious.

"My goodness, I thought two would lead a more exciting and mysterious life. You're going to bed like a couple of old fuddy duddies," she laughed at them.

"Maude my dear," Napoleon shrugged. "Even men in our profession appreciate some down time now and then. It's all too often we're on the go, jetting hither, thither and yon. Sometimes it wears a little thin."

"I never thought of it that way Napoleon. I just figured you had this adventurous life, seeing so much of the world and meeting lots of interesting people.

"Make that very _dangerous_ people,"Illya interjected,"and _one never knows what lurks around the corner._ They could be anywhere, even here."

Napoleon flashed a cautionary look to his partner...

* reference to "Beginnings" and my AU story "The Gambit Affair"


	6. No riding off into the sunset for you

Illya was up early, and after eating a light breakfast of porridge with fruit and a nice cup of tea; much to the dismay Mrs. Dunphy the cook, who wanted to make a proper breakfast for the gentleman.

"Ah sure there's not an ounce of fat on you _a stór.Y_ ou need some good food to fatten up a shkinny lad such as yourself. Just put your bum down in a chair and I'll make up some nice bangers and mash. That'll schitck to your bones.

"So I have been told, but thank you no, Mrs. Dunphy, the porridge will suffice."

Normally Illya would jump at the chance for such a breakfast, but he was on a mission and needed to do as he planned. Everything needed to look legitimate, besides Mrs. Dunphy kept fluttering her eyelashes at him. It seemed her interest in him had more to do than just fattening him up.

After wolfing down his breakfast, he headed down to the stables dressed in jeans, a polo shirt and his green windbreaker. He had no interest in wearing the proper riding togs as Cavendish had suggested. There was such clothing available for guests, but Illya took the butler up on the offer, solely for a pair of riding boots.

He entered the stable, seeing a young man looking to be around the age of seventeen or so, saddling Cossack Sun.

"How did you know I was to ride him?" Illya asked.

"Mr. Cavendish sent word sir. Beg pardon but this 'ere 'orse is a bit on the wild side...are you sure about riding 'im?"

"What is your name young man?"

"Tom sir, I'm Mr. Cavendish's **nephew**. 'E took me in after me mum and dad died in a car crash back in London."

"That is very admirable of your Uncle to do so Tom, and to answer your question; I am completely sure about this as I have ample experience with Don horses."

"Well it's your neck sir," the stable boy shook his head. After a few skittery moments, the lad led the horse out to the cobblestoned courtyard, and held the reins as Illya readied to mount up.

Kuryakin paused, patting Sunny on the neck, whispering to him in Russian to calm the beast. Tom had no clue as to what being said to the horse; amazingly the words worked like a charm.

Cossack Sun responded immediately, prompting Illya to hike himself into the saddle with ease. He held the reins with confidence and guided the horse around, ensuring he would respond to the slightest adjustment in tension on the reins; the Russian knew Sunny was ready.

"'Sir, you forgot this," Tom held out a riding crop.

"No thank you. I have no need of it."

"Well then take this at least?" The stable boy held out a small walkie talkie. "Just in case you run into a bit o' trouble sir. You never know with this one. I have the other radio with me if you need some help."

"Thank you, good idea," Illya accepted it and tucked it into his jacket pocket. This couldn't have worked out any better to help make his plan work.

Illya made a clicking sound, and gave a little kick with his heels, giving Sunny the signal to take off.

And Cossack Sun did just that. He headed off at a full gallop, with Illya guiding him across the expanse of the great **green** lawn and towards the open gate. Cavendish must have taken care of that as well.

Sunny galloped through, running at a good clip down the gravel road until Illya pulled back on the reins, slowing him down to an easy trot.

Though this was a purposeful ride, and not just for pleasure; Illya saw no reason why he should not enjoy himself for a while. It had been some time since he'd been near such a horse.

Kuryakin moved carefully, speaking all the while to Sunny as he began doing his Cossack tricks he'd learned so long ago. * Once he got the horse used to the idea of his rider moving around off the saddle and hanging from it...though with an English style saddle it wasn't all that easy. Once that was accomplished, he got back in the saddle and Illya urged the horse on to a gallop. Carefully he rose, removing his feet from the stirrups, and timing his movement with that of the horse, Illya got to a kneeling position and finally stood up on the animal's back.

He stretched out his arms, and for a brief second he smiled as the wind blew through his hair as he was one with this great beast.

Everything was going fine until something spooked Sunny, and he reared, throwing Illya to the ground. It was a child, a small ginger-haired boy dressed in what looked like pyjamas. He was barefoot, and just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone.

The boy darted out from the woods in front of the horse, startling it. The appeared to be around the age of eight, and was as pale as a ghost; his eyes wide with fear, but not fear of the horse. It was something else. He looked terrified.

It was a hard landing as Illya dropped to the ground, hitting his head. He'd landed at an odd angle. A sharp and unexpected pain that shot up his leg from his ankle.

"Stop! Wait!" He called to the boy, but the child was already gone. There was no way he'd be able to go after him as he'd moved at an impossible speed.

Illya cursed aloud in Russian as he tried to get up. Was it a sprain. or broken? Either way it wasn't good. Napoleon was not going to be happy, especially after he'd given Illya a caution to be careful.

Slowly getting to his hands and knees, he raised himself on his good leg. He wasn't feeling so good. Things began to spin and before he fell again, he carefully lowered himself to the ground, and sat down.

Sunny took a few steps closer to him, nuzzling the Russian's head.

Kuryakin reached into his pocket for the walkie talkie, but his fall had shattered it. There was a sharp pain in his side and he reached in, coming back with blood on his hand and a shard of dark plastic, broken off the radio casing. His communicator was missing, probably dropped out his pocket when he was thrown.

"Chyort…" he cursed again, before passing out.

* ref "Zaporoche"


	7. Some light is shed

Napoleon joined Maude for a full breakfast, making Mrs. Dunphy quite happy, but not enough that she didn't complain about Illya.

"Your friend left early this morning, off to ride that crazy stallion and wouldn't have but porridge and a mug o' tea. The lad could do with some meat on his bones if you ask me and I'll bet he'll have a sore bum when he gets back. I swear he has no come-after to sit on."

"Yes, that's been said about him before," Napoleon chuckled.

"Please, that'll be all Mrs. Dunphy," Maude seemed a bit displeased at the cooks forwardness.

"She was only speaking her mind, and it is the truth. Illya is a bit on the skinny side. Now as to having such a light breakfast, we both know that's not like him...I hope he isn't coming down with something?" Napoleon spoke his mind as well.

"She overstepped her place," Maude said."That's completely unacceptable behavior...I have a mind to let her go."

"Maude, if I may be so bold as to ask; what's happened to you? When last we met you were a bright, educated and thoroughly modern girl and now here you are, the mistress of an English mansion with snooty friends like Bibi and Amelia."

At first he thought she was angry with him, as he watched her nostrils flare.

"That obvious huh? I mean the way I live; it's because of Charles. I do love him so and I've tried to fit in. Being a Yank and all has made it hard. The Baroness and Lady Gladstone, as boorish as they are, were the only ones who didn't turn up their noses at me. Even the people in town started giving me the cold shoulder...it's been hard, especially with Charles taking his business trips all the time." Maude finally burst into tears.

Napoleon stood, walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her, offering her a comforting hug; she buried her face against him as she sobbed. When she finally came up for air he dabbed her cheeks with his handkerchief.

"Oh I must look a mess. I'm sorry Napoleon, it's just that I'm so lonely. Do you think you and Illya could stay for a few more days, at least until Charles returns. It's so wonderful have people that I know staying here."

"I think that can be arranged easily enough, now let's finish our breakfast before we suffer the wrath of Mrs. Dunphy and then you go put on some fresh makeup. You still have to show me around the town, remember?"

Maude laughed,"I must be a sight. Thank you Napoleon for listening."

"I'm very good at that," he flashed her a reassuring smile.

After breakfast, Maude quickly fixed her face and off she and Solo headed into town, driving Charles' sleek beige Austin Healey roadster.

The estate was about forty minutes outside of Lytham St. Annes, and they headed first to St. Thomas' Road near the golf course. Maude knew Napoleon played and presumed he might be interested in a few rounds, maybe with Charles when he returned.

They strolled together up and down the streets, heading first to Church street, then down St. Annes Road where they stopped at the Church of St. Anne's to see the rector.

The immaculately kept churchyard was enclosed by a red brick wall and they entered it through a rectangular Tudor-style lychgate built of timber with a roof of red tile.

A portly fellow, with a balding pate greeted Maude and Napoleon, calling out to them from the cemetery. He had a large bunch of flowers in his arms that he must have been laying on some of the graves.

"Ah Mrs. Kensington, how wonderful to see you. I hope you are getting on well enough? We missed you at services last Sunday."

"Oh I apologize, I was in Ireland, bringing back the Vouchsafe after a brief holiday there. Rector Heaton, I'd like you to meet a friend of my Uncle's, Mr. Napoleon Solo. He and his umm. business associate are staying with me for a few days while my husband is away...stalking again."

"How do you do Mr. Solo. That's not an Irish name is it?"

"No sir, it's Italian," He shook the man's hand.

"Ah, but I detect and American accent...well we all can't be British I suppose. So Mrs. Kensington can I expect to see you at services on Sunday? You as well Mr. Solo?"

"I'm Roman Catholic," Napoleon interjected.

"Oh a pity then. We're expecting a visit from Bishop Atkinson. He's due to arrive Saturday next, in the afternoon. He'll be giving the sermon on Sunday and I'm sure it will be most inspiring." The man was very animated, tapping his hands together, showing his enthusiasm.

"Well then perhaps you and the bishop would join us for dinner at my home on Saturday?" Maude asked.

"Why yes that would be splendid, splendid indeed," Rector Wheaton was practically giddy.

They bid the rector good day and continued upon their way.

So far Napoleon saw nothing that seemed untoward or out of place. Passersby did tip their hats at Maude but walked quickly by them, several ladies sweeping the sidewalks stopped what they were doing and hurried inside. There seemed a definite air of avoidance as Maude had said.

What happened when they visited the local butcher shop shed a more light on things for Solo.

They opened the door; a little brass bell tinkled its welcome to them.

The owner, a red-cheeked man, doffed his hat after wiping his hands on his apron. Welcome Missus, and what may I do to help you today?"

"I'm not sure...Napoleon what would suit you for dinner tonight, something hearty I imagine as Illya's going to work up quite an appetite riding that horse."

"Well we are partial to steaks, but you decide Maude, ladies choice."

"Well that settles that, steaks it is then." She ordered a full cut of filet mignon, large enough for quite a few filets.

"Oh Mr. Hoghton, this is friend of my Uncle Alexander, Mr. Solo."

He watched as the butcher's eyes went wide, betraying himself.

"Honor to meet you sir." There was a definitely nervous tone in the man's voice.

Napoleon took a chance,"Yes, I've heard lots of lovely things about your town here from Mrs. Kensington, and I believe an acquaintance of mine has visited here as well. Perhaps you know him...his name is _Harry Beldon._ He found the place rather interesting, particularly the local oddities."

"Why yes... yes sir, I do recall that name sir. Quite a nice gentleman he was, helped me with a problem I was having."

"Why I see you two are getting along famously,"Maude interrupted."How about I leave you to collect the filets Napoleon while I go across the street; there's a darling hat in the window that I really need to look at more closely."

Butcher Hoghton walked her to the door; the little brass bell tinkling again as he opened and closed it behind her. He quickly turned the lock, as well as a sign that read 'Closed for tea, back in fifteen minutes.'

"So you're the one who contacted U.N.C.L.E." Napoleon asked.

"I was supposed to be anonymous sir. So why did you come to see me? I didn't know Mrs. Kensington was related to anyone in UNCLE...the only reason I knew about it was because my cousin Charlie works in the kitchen they have there in London. He cooks for all them agents working there. He was the one who gave me the telephone number, said I should call right quick."

"Let me assure you this was purely by accident. I do indeed work for 's Uncle and he sent me and my partner here under the premise of seeing her home from Ireland. I was not informed of the situation with the children until we arrived here and he did keep your name in confidence. Perhaps you could give me some more details as he was rather vague."

"All right then sir, I believe you."

"So what can you tell me about what's going on? What happened to the children and how many of them are missing to be precise?"

"My son Ollie and his friend Steven were the first sir. Went out to the promenade to do a little busking, as they were right fine with a song but they never came back. Later that day, the babies disappeared out of their the rest just were gone from wherever they were, like magic"

"How many all together?"

"Thirty sir, and none of them older than ten or twelve, give or take a year or two. The youngest was eight months."

"The local constabulary, didn't they investigate?"

"No sir, most of the officers lost children too...you see _they_ took them."

"Okay, I'll bite. Who's they?"

"The strangers sir. They said if anyone talked then they'd kill the children. I was afraid to tell UNCLE that bit," the butcher's eyes filled with tears. "Said if we obeyed, then we'd get back the rejects they called 'em."

"Rejects, as in the children?"

"Yes sir, but so far we haven't seen hide nor hair of any of them."

All the while he was speaking, Hoghton was trimming and wrapping up the meat.

"Where did they take them, any idea?"

"Aye sir, to the north of here but nobody's gone there, as we're afraid the children might be harmed if we were seen. There's an odd building there, but we daren't go near it."

"I promise you we'll find the children and get them home safe and sound," Napoleon tried to sound confident.

Houghton tied the butcher's paper closed with a piece of twine, handing it over the counter. "No offense to you but I hope the Kensingtons choke on this." The man's face was filled with disgust.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because it's since _she_ got here that this all happened. Now Mr. Kensington brings all these men around. Tells people they're hunting friends but I've never gotten one animal to dress or butcher for them, not a one. He's in on this too with his friends, gotta be. They're right foul people, they are. It's she who turned the Mister, that's what I think."

Napoleon refrained from saying yay or yay. "Mr. Houghton, we'll help you; just be patient."

"Thank you Mr. Solo, and God bless."

"Don't thank me just yet."

Napoleon nodded to the butcher as he unlocked the door for him to leave.

"Sir, please bring them back safe."

The butcher closed the door, and changed the sign back to read 'OPEN.'

Maude waved to Napoleon from across the street, carrying a hat box on her arm. She trotted across, greeting him with a smile.

"Oh I just had to have that hat. I'll wear it on Saturday for when the bishop comes to dinner. She looked at the package Napoleon was carrying. "That should be more than enough for Illya and the rest of us," she chuckled.

"One could only hope." His response was rather distant as his mind was racing over what the butcher had told him.

"So we better head back and get that meat to Mrs. Dunphy. Napoleon I didn't even really ask you if you wanted to stay longer, would you mind?"

"Not at all Maude. It's lovely here and we do need the rest. I'm sure Illya is enjoying being able to ride; he never gets to do it at home and only once in a rare while on an assignment. Although someone is generally chasing him, or us while doing so."

"That's so sad, not to be able to enjoy life really. Looking over your shoulders all the time. Well I hope you know you don't have to do that here. Lytham St. Anne's is such a cozy safe haven."

"I'm sure you're right…"


	8. Spotted Dick?

By the time Napoleon and Maude made it back to the Kensington Estate, it was just past lunch time. They entered through the back pantry door.

After giving the filet mignon to Mrs. Dunphy, who promptly smiled about it as well as the news about the bishop being a guest on Saturday; she blathered on about using one of her special marinades on the meat to make it even more tender and wondered out loud as to what to serve the bishop.

"Sure that's for later for me to think about. Now, I'll have this so you can cut it with a butter knife by the time I'm done with it." And off she went.

"Well before you start on that Mrs. Dunphy would you prepare lunch. I'm famished and I'm sure you are as well Napoleon?" Maude called after her.

"I could manage to eat something, yes. Mrs. Dunphy has Mr. Kuryakin returned yet?"

"No sir he hasn't. I better prepare some of my liniment as I think he's going to be a bit sore after such a long riding session, especially his bum."

Solo chuckled at that, feigning his amusement when in fact he was a bit concerned; Illya should have been back by now. He knew the Russian liked to make his dramatic entrances but in this case that wasn't called for at all. He was simply to fake an injury in order to give them an excuse to remain here a few days longer. Napoleon let it go for the moment, trying to convince himself his partner was fine, after all Illya did enjoy to ride. Maybe he was doing just that before he proceeded with the plan...hmmm, but for four hours?

They were treated to a delicious meal of something called a pasty, a meat and vegetable pie slathered in gravy. As Napoleon sampled it he tasted beef, carrots rutabaga, potatoes...onions; it was simply marvelous. For dessert there was something called 'spotted dick' and custard. Maude saw his hesitation and laughed.

"Don't worry Napoleon, it's not what you think. It's called a pudding here, made with suet and dried fruit.

He raised his eyebrows in amusement as he tried a spoonful. "Pretty good." The agent looked at his wristwatch again. "Shame Illya's missing it."

"Oh I'm sure Mrs. Dunphy has more, if not she'll whip up something equally as delicious for him."

Lunch concluded and Napoleon excused himself, claiming he was feeling a bit sleepy and needed a nap.

Maude chuckled,"That sounds like an old man talking."

"The only old man I hope to be like one day is your Uncle," he smiled, giving her a little salute before he walked out the door.

"Enjoy your snooze," Maude called back."I'll have Cavendish wake you for dinner.

"Maude, it's just a nap," he winked at her.

As soon as he arrived in his room, he pulled his communicator.

"Open Channel F- Illya?" There was nothing but static. He tried several times before giving up.

"Crap," he muttered. Something had to have gone wrong. Illya was supposed to have only been gone no more than an hour at most and now too much time had passed without word from him.

Napoleon snuck out of the house, heading down to the stables where he met Tom and questioned him. The boy, knowing Cossack Sun, was concerned for Illya as well.

"Sir, 'e said 'e knew these Don 'orses but everyone is different. Sunny can be right wild at times."

"Well maybe we should discreetly saddle up and go looking for him?"

"My thoughts exactly sir, but I don't think the Missus would want me to ride any of the Master's 'orses without 'er instructions."

"Tom, I'll take responsibility, now let's saddle up."

The boy quickly had two horses ready, a fine black gelding and a dapple grey mare. Napoleon mounted the gelding, settling into the English saddle...the type he'd learned with which to ride as a boy.

"Where did Mr. Kuryakin head Tom?"

"'Went off the estate 'e did sir, following the road as far as I could see 'im."

"Then let's go," Napoleon gave the horse, called Midnight Sun, a touch with his riding crop, spurring the horse forward, followed by Tom on Maisy the mare.

Illya moaned before his eyes at last fluttered open; his head was throbbing as was his ankle, making him almost forget about his side...almost.

"What the hell have you done now Kuryakin?" He pushed himself up with his elbows, scanning the area; squinting as he searched for his horse, but there was no sign of him.

It was then he spotted it, glistening in the sun; his communicator. Illya scooched along the ground, not sure it was a good idea for him to try to stand again. He finally reached it and setting it up; he called his partner.

"Channel F-Napoleon are you there?"

"Where the hell are you?"

He could hear a hint of strain in Napoleon's voice. "I am north of the main gate, maybe twenty minutes or so as the horse flies. I umm, had a little riding mishap."

Napoleon's instinct was to try and lighten the mood," Did you fall off your little horsie?"

"Your attempt at humor is ill timed, you know that. I was thrown."

"Sorry, are you all right?"

"Not exactly. I may have a broken ankle, and perhaps a slight concussion along with a few other sundry cuts and bruises."

"I'll be right there tovarisch, hold on."

"I have little else I can do." Illya began to feel dizzy and grabbed onto a tuft of tall grass, trying to anchor himself until the spinning in his head subsided.

Napoleon and Tom arrived sooner than expected, and after a quick examination, Solo thought the ankle wasn't broken, just badly sprained. He held onto Illya's chin as he looked into the Russian's eyes...they seemed okay, but to be on the safe side, Kuryakin needed medical attention just to be sure.

"You know this is going to throw a monkey wrench into our umm...visit?" He watched what he was saying with Tom being there.

"Monkey wrench? What the devil is that?" Illya grunted as he was helped to his feet, and up to the back of Solo's horse; he'd be riding double with his partner.

They headed back to the mansion; Napoleon slowing the horse to more a more casual pace so not as to jar his partner. He was concerned about the possible concussion as well.

Tom remained behind to search for Cossack Sun.

"So I thought you were an expert horseman? I can't believe you really hurt yourself. Didn't I tell you to be…"

"Yes mother, I was careful, (he omitted the fact he'd been doing some trick riding) Illya held on; wrapping his arms around his partner's waist as he fought off another bout of dizziness, but still managed to tell Napoleon about the child, and what had happened.

"The boy appeared out of nowhere and ran at an incredible rate of speed, one that seemed impossible for a child of those years. He spooked the horse and the rest you know."

"Illya, something is going on with the children from the town, they're not just missing. They're being held somewhere to the North of here. I spoke to the butcher in town today and apparently he was the source of the anonymous tip that us sent here."

"What did he tell you?"

"The children are hostages, why I don't know but I suspect it's something more than that. What their parents were told was, and I quote, "the rejects will be returned."

"Rejects? THRUSH must be doing something to them, and I am sure it is nothing pleasant. The boy I saw, being to run that fast was not natural. That is definitely a clue. Perhaps they are experimenting on them, augmenting their natural abilities, but for what purpose?"

"You're guess is as good as mine Spike."

Illya fell silent for the rest of the ride back to the estate. As he leaned his head against Napoleon's shoulder, his thoughts drifted to his time spent in the concentration camp as a child during the war. See the asolute fear in that child's eyes back there stirred up memories he tried so hard to bury.

He shuddered, as he was reminded of the vicious experiments performed on him, along with many children. He was the one who became a favorite of 'Herr Doktor,' simply because he survived the tests, unlike the others.

He never discovered the name of that Nazi animal, as Herr Doktor was the only name by which Illya knew the man.

A boy of ten, Kuryakin was one of the few survivors of the camp only because he'd escaped with thirteen men but he never found out what happened to the infamous doctor of Sryets.

Over the years Illya would periodically use the UNCLE database to check to see if anyone matching Herr Doktor's background, having been at the Sryets camp had been captured or resurfaced, but there was never been a sign of him. Eventually he presumed the man must have died during the last of the war, though there was little satisfaction to be had from that thought.

.

Upon arriving at the mansion, Cavendish assisted Napoleon with his partner, carrying Illya between the two of them to the drawing room, where he was laid down on the sofa.

Maude was horrified Illya had been hurt and immediately called Doctor Freidrich to see to him.

The physician arrived shortly thereafter, and upon careful examination he concluded it was a severe sprain, no broken bones. He cleaned and stitched up the cut in Illya's side, made by the shard of plastic and after examining the lump on the back of the Russian's head, and checking his pupillary reaction, deemed him to be in better condition than first indicated by a very distraught Mrs. Kensington.

After giving Illya a shot for the pain, much against the Russian's protests; the doctor left a bottle of pills for further discomfort, and with the help of a cane, the patient would be able to get around within a few days. Until then he ordered bed rest and light food. Thankfully there seemed to be no signs of a concussion, but just as a precaution he advised Napoleon 'to keep an eye on him.'

Mrs. Dunphy brought out a cart with a tray, "Light broth," as the doctor ordered.

She offered to feed the wounded Kuryakin, and as Solo finally saw for himself, the woman was quite taken with his partner.

"No thank you Madam," Illya waved his hand. "I am perfectly capable of doing so myself."

"Yes sir, now if you're in need of some massage, I have a special liniment that will work wonders. I could run a nice hot bath for you, and then I'll see to your sore…"

"Again, _no_ thank you Mrs. Dunphy."

"But…"

"Will you leave me alone you silly cow? Are you that feeble minded that you do not even understand your English language. Perhaps in German, French, Russian, Italian? Take your pick!" This time he was nearly snarling at her.

Napoleon intervened before things got out of hand. "You'll have to pardon him Mrs. Dunphy; Mr. Kuryakin is a man who doesn't take to being babied, especially when he's in a lot of pain. Now if you excuse us, I think a bit of privacy is needed."

He ushered the woman through the door, not waiting for her to absorb what had just happened as she was quite dumbfounded at Illya's outburst, which seemed to be a first; Mrs. Dunphy lost for words, that is.

In England calling someone a cow was quite insulting and had nothing to do with a person's weight. It was something Illya had apparently picked up when he lived in Great Britain.

The last time he used such a demeaning term was when he called that Arab woman Sophie such a name. *

As Napoleon was sliding the double doors closed Maude returned from showing out Dr. Friedrich. Mrs. Dunphy whisked past her, in near tears now with her lower lip quivering.

"Napoleon what happened?"

"Illya just being himself. He's going to owe Mrs. Dunphy an apology. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to have a little talk with my partner?"

Maude put her hands on her hips, giving an exasperated sigh. "Well let me know when the patient is ready to be moved upstairs, and I'll call Cavendish."

"Will do Ma'am," Napoleon gave her wink as he closed the doors.

As soon as they had their privacy he started on his partner, "Illya, what the hell were you thinking with Mrs. Dunphy?"

"My patience was wearing thin with her fawning."

"May I remind you that she's responsible for you eating while we're here. We may have to end up having your food tested for poison,"Napoleon joked…."Illya?"

The shot the doctor had given the Russian had kicked in, knocking him out like a light, that and the trauma of the morning sapped his energy as well. Injured agents were used to operating on pure adrenaline at times, but as soon as they stopped moving, so did the energy that kept them going.

Napoleon shook his head, pulling his communicator and calling Waverly. There was a lot to tell the Old Man, though he decided Illya being hurt was best kept out of the conversation for now.

.

* MFU- The Arabian Affair 1965


	9. Some answers for Maude

Illya remained on the sofa until he finally woke. Napoleon, as usual, was sitting nearby in a high back Georgian leather wing chair, reading a copy of the local newspaper. He peeked over the top of it, like a good spy would as soon as he heard the Russian stir.

"How you feeling tovarisch?"

"Like I fell off a horse," he grunted as he sat up."What time is it?"

Napoleon glanced at his watch after folding up the paper and putting it aside. "Nearly time for dinner."

"Good, I'm famished."

"Hold on a second, I think you need to apologize to Mrs. Dunphy if you expect to get anything more than stale bread and water."

"Hmm, yes. I was rather peeved at her, was I not?"

"That's putting it mildly. She meant well."

"Napoleon, next time an old lady hints at having her way with you; I will remind you of those words."

Solo grinned,"Well if she's good looking…"

"As I have said before, you are incorrigible."

"Nothing new there. Now let's get you up to bed."

"What about dinner?"

"Doctor's orders, bed rest and light broth for now. If you apologize to the cook, she just might slip you something extra."

"That is what I am worried about."

"Illya I meant food."

Napoleon disappeared for a moment, and returned with Cavendish and Maude in tow.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you," Maude said.

"There is nothing to apologize for it was...umm, my own carelessness and nothing more. Cossack Sun is a beautiful horse and he responded to me very well. Something spooked him and I was caught off guard."

She didn't quite know what to make of that as she was well aware of how careful the Russian was in everything he did.

"Are you sure that's all that happened?"

"Absolutely." He didn't hesitate in responding, as he'd given her enough truth in what he'd said to cover himself.

Maude remained suspicious. She'd give Napoleon the third degree once they were done with dinner; she was a Waverly, after all.

A moment later the cook appeared; her nose up in the air, letting all know that she was quite put out.

"Mrs. Dunphy," Napoleon said," I think Mr. Kuryakin has something to say to you."

Illya squirmed before looking the woman in the eye, fluttering his baby blues, trying to appear quite penitent.

"I wish to apologize for my earlier behavior. You meant well and I was nothing but rude to you. Can you forgive me?"

Mrs. Dunphy squared her shoulders, but the rest of her seemed just melt and her appearance softened.

"You were in a lot of pain I'm sure sir. So I accept your apology. Now I do believe Mr. Cavendish and Mr. Solo are waiting to take you upstairs. I'll send up your supper shortly. I'm afraid a light broth as per the doctor," she hesitated." but I make a fine tasty broth, I do. The doctor didn't say anything about no dessert." This time she winked at him.

Illya nodded, hoping what she meant for dessert was actually food.

He stood up with the help of Solo, and was positioned between his partner and Cavendish; together the three of them headed out to the foyer and though it took some time getting up the long flight of stairs; Illya finally made it to his room.

Cavendish had already laid out the Russian's blue pajamas and after helping him to change, he took the soiled and damaged clothing to be cleaned and repaired.

"I will be return with your dinner shortly sir," he helped Illya into bed, fluffing up an extra pillow and putting an extra one behind the Russian's back. Opening a lamp on the nightstand; he placed a newspaper there.

"Will there be anything else sir?"

"No. Thank you for your help Mr. Cavendish. Has Cossack Sun been found yet?"

"My pleasure sir, and yes young Tom has located him and he is none the worse for wear. He is a very spirited horse, though my nephew said Sunny responded to you quite well, as you sit a horse like a well-seasoned rider."

"I was once taught some very important secrets about working with horses by and old Cossack," Illya winked.

"Yes sir." Cavendish gave a little bow before leaving.

"You comfy enough?"Napoleon asked.

"Yes, I am fine."

"Maybe I'll take my dinner here with you."

"Napoleon go, keep Maude company. We can talk over our plans later." Illya waved his hands, shooing off his partner.

"What do you mean 'we'? You're out of commission remember?"

"We will talk later, now go."

"Yes sir Mr. Kuryakin sir," Napoleon came to attention, giving Illya a military salute.

.

Napoleon and Maude were seated for dinner, enjoying the fabulous filet mignon that Mrs. Dunphy had prepared.

Solo felt a little guilty Illya was missing out on such a delicious repast, having only broth to eat. That was not going to make for a very happy Kuryakin and he made a mental note to keep that in mind when he went back upstairs to speak with his partner.

"Napoleon, I need to ask you something," Maude said as she sipped her glass of decanted red wine. A Henschke Hill of Grace Shiraz she called it.

Napoleon smiled as he tasted it, knowing it was another such vintage that was out of reach for him financially.

"Isn't it remarkable? It's from South Australia of all places, Eden Valley wine region in the Mt. Lofty Ranges east of Barossa Valley. Sounds a bit exotic doesn't it? I've never been to Australia have you...oh, wait, that's not what I really want to ask you."

"Ask away Maude, though if I answer truthfully, then I'll have to kill you."

"Oh stop with the silly," she lowered her voice, "spy quips will you. I'm being serious here."

He chuckled. "As am I. Go ahead, but again, it may not be something I can't answer."

"When I was speaking to Illya about what happened with Sunny today, I got the feeling he was leaving out something very important...was he? Is there something going on that I should know about?"

Napoleon huffed, taking another sip of the shiraz. This was more like the old Maude.

"Yes there is, but your Uncle doesn't want you involved."

"If I promise to stay out of things will you tell me what's happening. I live here Napoleon, this is my home now and if there's someone or something threatening it, then I have a right to know."

He hesitated, but decided to at least throw her a bone. In no way was he going to tell her that her husband might be implicated.

"You said it yourself on the boat trip over here, about the odd absence of the children. It seems someone, and we don't know who, has taken them. They're being held, but for what reason, we don't know as of yet, or exactly where they are."

Maude's eyes went wide.

"The parents were told not to say anything or the children would be killed. They were also told some would be returned, but that as yet hasn't happened. The reason why the townspeople have given you the cold shoulders is that the disappearances happened right after you arrived; they seem to think you have something to do with it."

"Oh my goodness," Maude covered her mouth with her hands."This is just awful, and they blame me?"

"It's a matter of timing I'm afraid, the disappearances...no, kidnapping of the children and your arrival were just a coincidence."

"But the townspeople don't see it that way." Maude was now visibly upset." No wonder they've been acting so strangely, the poor dears. We need to tell them I had nothing to do…"

"No, we're not going to tell them anything, not for now. You made a promise to stay out of this, remember? I'll take care of it and get those kids back. Illya being injured has muddled up the plans to **hunt** for them at the moment, but I'll figure something out. The **silver** lining to this is you get to have the pleasure of our company a while longer."


	10. Food to soothe the savage Kuryakin

Cavendish, after knocking, entered Illya's bedroom carrying with him a serving tray.

"Sir your dinner."

Illya hiked himself up in bed, thinking that was an awfully large tray for merely broth.

The butler set it on Illya's lap, being supported by four legs and he removed the cover from the dish.

Mrs. Dunphy had sent up two filet mignons, and asparagus with hollandaise sauce. There was a small bowl of broth...following doctor's orders he suspected.

Thankfully the sort of dessert he'd hoped for was on the tray as well. It was a Black Forest gateau with whipped cream and a layer of cherries. Now this was a decadence he could let slide...

He was glad he'd apologized to the woman.

Cavendish poured a glass of water from a pitcher, placing it on the tray with the meal.

"Apologies sir, but Mr. Solo gave explicit orders for no alcohol of any kind," he winked "but I might have gotten things muddled up a bit. I do apologize."

Illya shrugged, as he wasn't in any sort of position to argue nor did he quite understand to what the man was alluding.

The pain medication was still in his system, but not for long, but having a drink was the last thing on Illya's mind at the moment.

"Cavendish, please be sure to thank Mrs. Dunphy for me.

"Will that be all sir?"

"Yes thank you." Illya lifted his glass, taking a sip from it, coughing as he discovered it wasn't water at all. Vodka. Cavendish had slipped him vodka."

"Are you all right sir?"

"I am now Mr. Cavendish, thank you very much."

"My pleasure sir. Nothing like a wee nip to help you when you're ailing." The butler nodded mischievously and closed the door after himself.

Napoleon arrived a short while later, seeing the food tray put aside on the bed. He saw enough to know Illya hadn't had only broth for dinner. The man had a cast iron stomach, so it was no surprise.

"I see your appetite is up to par tovarisch."

"So will the rest of me tomorrow after a good night's rest."

"Yeah about that...I think you need to sit this one out for now. You're not going to be of much use not being able to walk, much less run."

"Nyet, I am not sitting this one out Napoleon. I will be ready tomorrow morning whether you like it or not."

Napoleon shook his head, knowing that when the Russian made up his mind, it couldn't be changed.

"All right tovarisch, don't...get your knickers in a twist."

That very British idiom being used by the very American Solo made Illya laugh, though he held his side where it had been stitched.

"I had to tell Maude a bit about what's going on; she was getting suspicious. She had a feeling there was something you weren't telling her about your spill. Really, that's more like the Maude we know."

"What exactly did you say to her?"

"That we're here to investigate the disappearance of the local children, and as per her Uncle...she's not to become involved."

"Easier said than done, if she is acting more like her tenacious self," Illya crossed his arms in front of his chest, but reached out, holding a hand up to halt his partner who had just reached for the pitcher of water.

"Stoi! I would not touch that if I were you."

"What's wrong? Poison?"

"No, vodka. Apparently Cavendish's way of looking out for me."

"Peachy. Cavendish did it in spite of me asking him not to."

"What can I say," Illya shrugged,"I have that sort of effect on people...they just want to mother me. Speaking of which, anything further from Mrs. Dunphy?"

"No, I think she's backed off on her infatuation with you. You're tirade may have broken her heart."

"I seriously doubt that. So now what is the plan?"

"There's a building north of town where the children are being held and it's time I check it out. "

Illya canted his head to one side, apparently missing Solo's use of the personal pronoun referring to himself. "Maude will most likely try to become involved will she not?"

"I made her promise not to but I have my doubts she's going to keep her word in this matter. So I think it's going to be up to you to distract her. I need you to over do the part of the suffering patient. Ask her to keep you company in your fevered pain, have her read to you...anything to keep her here and occupied."

Illya's jutting chin and flared nostrils told Napoleon his partner wasn't happy about that, though his reaction wasn't surprising.

"You are not leaving me here to babysit Maude. I am fine and perfectly capable of coming along."

"Yeah right."

"Well I am."

"Fine!" Napoleon huffed. "Get a good night's sleep and lay off the booze...better to take your pain meds. If you're going to be of any use to me tomorrow I need you to be able to function."

"Yes mother. Good night Napoleon."

Solo picked up the pitcher and took it with him just in cast, chuckling to himself that he was guilty of mothering the Russian himself at times.

"Good night Illya."

Solo left his partner to his own devices, returning to his room. Cavendish had provided him with a decanter of single malt scotch...the good kind, and Solo helped himself to a night cap before changing for bed.

He hated like hell to push Illya away on this one; he could really use him but with a bum ankle it was going to be doubtful his partner would be of much use.

Cavendish had already pulled down the bedcovers and laid out Solo's pajamas. In this case he didn't mind anyone touching his things but usually he'd be instantly suspicious. He backpedaled on that thought and walked around his room rechecking for bugs, but found removed any further suspicions about the butler.

He mused to himself, climbing into bed, wondering what it would be like to have a gentleman's gentleman...maybe once he retired and done some investing with his pension?

Life beginning anew at forty couldn't be that bad; he would be out of the field and a member of Section I if he was reading the signs right. There were rumors he was being groomed as Alexander Waverly's replacement, whenever that day came, though the Old Man hadn't broached the subject with him. That was one topic he daren't bring up...it was a case of speak when spoken to and not before.

Still a manservant...who was he kidding? That was a life that just wasn't meant to be for him. The most he could hope for was live to retirement age and get an honest job, whatever that was? There was no guarantee he'd be offered a position in Section I or live long enough to accept it.

Napoleon laughed at himself as he snuggled under the covers. He was starting to sound like Illya, a little bit too much on fatalistic side.

"Hanging around too much with a certain Russian," he chuckled before closing his eyes and settling down for the night.


	11. The dreams return

Illya closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep but his mind was refusing to cooperate. The image of the boy running out in front of Cossack Sun had stuck with him; the look of terror in the child's eyes was something he couldn't shake.

He tossed and turned until finally drifting off, but it wasn't a restful sleep as his old nightmares came back to haunt him yet again. The image of the terrified boy frozen in fear before he ran off had no doubt triggered them.

.

 _One by one a nine year old Illya watched so many of the other children weaken and die in the concentration camp at Sryets. It was located just outside Kyiv near the Babi Yar ravine, where so many people had been murdered, and it was still happening there and inside the camp._

 _The children were being worked to death, standing at the sorting tables for countless hours at a time without the benefit of food or drink, and not enough rest. One by one they disappeared with their eyes wide with fear, as they disappeared into one particular building set aside from the others._

 _If they returned, and very few did, they weren't the same as their bodies and minds were mangled from terrible experiments performed upon them._

 _It was that lone building that terrified young Illya. It was where he saw the man known only as Herr Doktor go on a daily basis...the boy never knew the man's real name. Along with the doctor was his oily faced assistant, a man named Karl Voelker, who was deeply hated as well but for other reasons._

 _The day finally came when it was Illya's turn to be taken to that special building…_

 _He was brought inside, his tattered clothes removed and he was unceremoniously shoved into a room; the metal door clanging shut behind him. Above him was a shower head, and the boy began to shiver, wrapping his arms around himself. He'd heard rumors that showers were where people were gassed to death._

 _Illya wanted to cry, but he had no more tears left to give; he steeled himself for the inevitable. It was his time to finally die, he knew it in his heart. He would join his family and friends at last._

 _There was a loud bang and water suddenly burst from the shower head and all he could do was erupt in laughter. Though ice cold, it felt wonderful as the water cascaded over him; it was the first bath he'd had since...well, since before his babushka disappeared. Illya had no concept of how much time that really was, but he knew it was long enough._

 _He remembered sitting in the kitchen of his family's dacha, what seemed like a lifetime ago now. His Baba filled a galvanized tub with water heated on the black cast iron stove in the kitchen and after much coaxing, there she made him sit, scrubbing her dirty blond grandson with a brush until his skin was pink._

" _There, you look like a little boy again Illyusha. I recognize my grandson now," Babushka laughed._

 _She didn't say how skinny he was, as their food was almost gone. She'd stopped eating in order to feed Illya and his baby sister Katiya, but it simply wasn't enough for them either. They were all that was left of the family and she had to protect them and keep them alive. Marina Kuryakina knew she needed to go in search of food for the last of her family._

 _Baba did that one day, leaving her grandson and his baby sister Katiya hidden in the attic of the family dacha._

 _And now he stood in this cold water, shaking away those memories. His grandmother never returned. He'd gone looking for food himself, leaving Katiya in the attic of the family dacha and watched later as the Nazis burned down the house with her still in it. There was nothing he could do, he was helpless then, as he was now._

 _They were all gone now, his parents, brothers, sister, grandmother...he was the last Kuryakin. Even his Roma family, Uncle Vanya and cousin Anastasiya were dead.* Why was he the only one left alive? That he could not understand._

 _Illya reached out to a shelf, finding a sliver of soap and lathered up with it as best he could then rinsing away the meager suds. It was the first time he'd seen himself without clothing in a very long time, and realized he was skin and bones, just like the other children had become._

 _The metal door creaked open and Karl Voelker stood there, looking him up and down like a hungry man._

" _You have cleaned up well enough; Herr Doktor does not like a dirty specimen. The man's gaze made Illya feel uncomfortable as did that word... specimen. The boy was relieved when Voelker tossed him a coarse towel to dry himself._

" _Schnell, you pretty little beast. Do not keep Herr Doktor waiting._

 _Illya was taken to another room, lifted naked to a cold metal table and strapped down. Beside him was another table containing surgical instruments and syringes along with vials of nasty looking liquids._

 _The boy began to tremble uncontrollably. Though he had prepared himself to die, he was still but a child and fear of the unknown could not be ignored._

 _Herr Doktor came in, strutting over to the table and carefully examined Illya's head shape. He looked at the boys file, seeing that it was noted he spoke fluent German._

" _This child should have been sent off to the Lebensborn," he concluded," though he is a little small for his age. Shame, it is too late now. We will proceed with the experiment...Voelker, hand me the syringe with compound J."_

" _Ja Herr Doktor."_

 _After searching for a vein in the child's arm the doctor injected him. He sat back on a chair, picking up a clipboard, observing and making notes on the reactions._

 _Illya's skin became flushed, and he began to tremble even more. His eyes rolled back and he seemed to have a small seizure._

" _Gut, sehr gut," the doctor smiled, "that is the most positive reaction we've had yet...Voelker, inject compound P."_

 _Karl picked up the next vial of green liquid, drawing some into the syringe and obeying the doctor he injected that as well into Illya's arm._

 _Young Kuryakin began to breathe heavily, grimacing from some unseen pain, but he said nothing and bore it in silence."_

" _This specimen is exceptional," Voelker smiled, the others were screaming and begging for mercy by now. Shall I inject the next serum Herr Doktor?"_

" _By all means yes," he smiled. "Nine, wait a moment." The doctor took Illya's jaw in his fingers, turning the child's head left then right. "There is something familiar about his face. "He reminds me of Colonel Nexor's son."_

" _Boy," he forced Illya to look directly at him. "Who is your father?"_

" _Ya ne dolzhen vam skazat'," he defiantly answered in Russian._

" _None of that low-brow gutter language. I know you speak German. Now answer me!" This time he wrenched the boy's face harder, forcing Illya to look at him._

" _Owww. My father was Nikolai Alexeevich Kuryakin." Illya stared back with defiance at the face he would never forget. It was gaunt, a scar on the forehead, the man's nose must have been broken at one time as it was wide and flattened. His mouth was barely a slit. Yet it was the eyes, the piercing dark eyes that seemed to burn into Illya's soul._

 _To the boy, Herr Doktor exemplified evil incarnate, a twisted Machiavellian creature. Illya was well read and knew the meaning of the word._

"And you were born where?" The doctor continued to interrogate him.

" _Here in Kyiv."_

" _Is there anything wrong Herr Doktor? I could get another subject?" Voelker asked._

" _No, just something that came to mind. There was a doctor who had been doing experimentation in cloning...what was his name now? Ah yes, Dr. Franz Müeller. He was tasked with creating a duplicate of the Füher, but his experiments never reached that stage and were deemed a failure._

 _I had heard most of the children were disposed of, though some disappeared. Colonel Nexor was involved in the project as I recall; a few of the mothers of the children were rumored to have been from this area. Hmmm, I wonder... interesting, but no matter, as the work was a deemed a failure. ** We will proceed Karl with another injection."_

 _The next compound was a ruby red liquid and once Voelker injected it in Illya's arm the boy reacted to it instantly; developing a rather substantial erection._

" _Excellent! If it works on a prepubescent boy, this compound should work wonders for men who are sexually dysfunctional."_

 _Illya finally whispered, "It hurts."_

 _The doctor and Voelker laughed at that statement. "You will have to deal with it boy," the doctor said. "Karl, time how long the erection lasts."_

 _Though the doctor couldn't see it, Voelker stared hungrily at the boy, He daren't risk touching the child lest he be caught by the doctor. Perverts who molested children were tolerated even less than homosexuals or Jews…"_

" _Better still after his excitement is over, given him another small dose and send him back to his barracks," The dark-haired Herr Doktor snickered, "Perhaps he can find some muschi to fuck as a reward for his not dying on me. Watch out for this one Voelker he is special, I will have need of him for further experiments over the next few days...this one is strong, unlike the others. He is to be given extra rations in the meantime."_

 _An hour later Illya was finally back to normal, but exhausted. Voelker disobeyed Herr Doktor, not giving the boy the injection as instructed._

" _No, little one. I will save this for another time, when we are alone again and you will be mine to do with as I please, and you will please me as well." He waved the syringe in front of Illya's face._

 _He unstrapped the boy, helping him down from the table. It was all Illya could do to wrench free of Voelker's hands._

" _Your clothing is on the bench there, dress yourself and return to your barracks, and here…" Voelker handed Illya a piece of paper. "Give this to the matron, you are to receive an extra ration of food each night until Herr Doktor needs you again. We must keep such a specimen as you alive until you are needed."_

 _He suddenly grabbed Illya again by the arm, yanking the child close enough for the boy to smell his rancid breath._

" _Tell no one of this, or you will suffer the consequences."_

 _Illya stood tall, acknowledging with a simple nod. He was afraid, but he was not. Life in the camp he supposed, had numbed him to any such 's threats meant nothing to a boy who no longer wished to live._

 _He quickly dressed himself, leaving the building and heading straight to the barracks._

 _Though desperately wanting the extra rations; he tore up the note. That would only help him to stay alive. No, he wanted to die, and the sooner that happened the better._

 _Weeks passed, and Illya returned again and again to experiments with the Doktor. Some were painful, others were not. His little body seemed to have a symbiotic relationship with what was injected into him, as if the drugs were making him stronger with a greater ability to recover from them, some not affecting him at all after a while. He seemed to develop an immunity to their effects._

" _Fascinating," Herr Doktor muttered."When I am finished, a thorough necropsy of this one will be warranted."_

" _Necropsy Herr Doktor? Isn't that done on animals….oh," Voelker laughed. "Very good sir, quite funny."_

 _Illya knew what that meant...death would finally take him, yet he wasn't sure he wanted to die like some fatted cow all for the sake of this insane man's curiosity._

 _He thought about just getting lost in the crowds of those poor souls being herded into the death vans. There at least he would die in comradeship with his friend Irina, and so many others who'd gone before him. These people, the Nazis, they did not see him or other people as human; they were merely animals to do with as they wished. *_

 _They would be coming for him again. Not again? He couldn't bear the thought letting Herr Doktor or that molestor Volker touch him any longer._

 _Illya could feel the assistant's hands upon him, touching him. the smell of his vile breath as the boy's pants were pulled down…*_

 _._

"Nyet!" Illya cried out as he woke with a start. "No more of this," he hissed to himself; getting up and hobbling to the bathroom he first splashed cold water on his face. Looking at his watch he decided it was best to shower, shave and dress as Napoleon would be checking on him soon, no doubt to let him know he would be left behind. He knew that's what his partner was up to.

"Not on your life my friend," Illya mumbled.

Solo woke before sunrise and quickly went about his morning routine. Breakfast would have to be skipped as he wanted to abscond before anyone was awake, though he suspected Cavendish and the rest of the staff were early risers.

He wore a casual pair of trousers, a charcoal grey polo shirt and a dark jacket; such attire suitable to doing what most likely would be some dirty reconnaissance work.

Writing a quick note to Illya, apologizing for leaving him behind; he slipped it under his partner's door, only to have it shoot right back out at him.

"What the hell?"

The door opened and a fully dressed Kuryakin stood there, leaning on wooden cane for support.

"We were going somewhere, as I recall," Illya stepped out to the hall, looking like his normal self had it not been for the cane. He was dressed in his jeans, black turtleneck and windbreaker.

"How did you know I'd be leaving this early?"

"I have worked with you long enough to know how you think...to a point. There is always a small room for error, given you tend to think by, as you have put it, the seat of your pants." Illya canted his head to one side.

"Well, you almost got it right as it's 'fly by the seat of your pants'. Though you are correct in your supposition. I guess there's no arguing with you is there?"

"Napoleon do I really need to answer that?"

Together they made their way downstairs. Napoleon placed another note he'd written ahead of time to Maude explaining he was off on some business, and asked her to take care of Illya. That he quickly scratched that out, saying Kuryakin was with him.

They managed to slip out the front door without being seen and headed down to the garage. To Solo's surprise his partner was barely limping.

"How are you doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Walking like you didn't hurt your ankle. I know you have amazing recuperative powers but a bad sprain is a sprain."

Illya winked. "You said it yourself, I have amazing recuperative powers."

In reality it was a pain pill and his powers of concentration keeping him from limping at the moment. Though he usually refused such medication, in this case he made an exception as he needed to function and not let his discomfort distract him from the task at hand. Most likely it would result in his ankle swelling even more, but so be it; an ice pack applied later on would suffice, that and maybe more vodka.

The garage was filled with expensive cars, the original Silver Cloud Rolls Royce, an older model Rolls as well, a Jaguar, a sleek Mercedes sedan, and the tan Austin Healey.

That was the car Napoleon slipped into the driver's seat; he'd helped himself to the keys from Maude's purse the night before.

Illya lowered himself into the passenger seat, unhappy he wasn't being permitted to drive this particularly hot car, but then again it was a stick and both feet would be needed to brake and use the clutch.

After a silent drive along the winding road, heading north for about fifteen minutes Kuryakin finally spoke.

"So what is the plan?"

"Umm, I don't have one yet, exactly. I'll figure it out once we get to where we're going."

"And that is?"

"I don't know other than just north of the town. Keep your eyes peeled for a building, perhaps newer construction like a warehouse. That's what the butcher sort of described to me, though I don't think he's actually seen it."

"Lovely we do not know where we are going and until we get there, wherever that is, we do not have a plan of action."

"Pretty much it."

"So what else is new?"

The two of them smiled at that.

.

* ref to "Beginnings"

** ref to "Seeing Double"


	12. The truth will out

It was just before sunrise when Cavendish presented his mistress with the note addressed to her by Solo.

She'd risen early to begin preparations for the bishop's arrival, which usually meant getting the staff to snap to in their cleaning.

Everything had to be just right. Charles needed to make a good impression and as his wife she'd see to it their home was in perfect order and a welcome sight for the clergyman.

Maude knew instantly before even looking the note that Napoleon was off to save those children. When reading Illya had gone with him, she fumed.

"How could he do that? Illya's an injured man!" She paced back and forth."Cavendish, do you know when they left?"

"Yes Madam, it was but twenty minutes ago...they took the Healey."

"Hmmm. Cavendish, go get the Jag ready. We're taking a little drive."

"Yes Ma'am, will you be driving yourself or should I fetch Compton to drive you?"

"No I'll take care of it myself. Now quickly Cavendish, I'm losing time."

.

Forty- five minutes later, Napoleon slowed the car, pulling from the road as Illya had spotted what looked to be a likely structure, around a half-mile away from the main road.

There was a turnoff to a narrow dirt road, and Napoleon took it, driving slowly as to not kick up any dust. When the building came into better view; it was then he drove the small car under the cover of the bushes and trees off to one side of the access road.

The Austin Healy was low enough that it couldn't be seen unless one was right on top of it, good since they were now quite close to the building.

"Illya you stay with the car while I go do some snooping. Obviously if I'm not back within a reasonable amount of time...well then you get out of here."

Kuryakin clicked his tongue. "Fine." In truth he knew he'd most likely slow Napoleon up but at least if his partner needed backup; he was here and not stuck at the mansion babysitting Maude." Please be careful my friend."

Solo nodded as he got out of the car, drawing his Special as a precaution. He disappeared through the bushes, emerging near what looked like a side entrance after making sure the coast was clear, he knelt down on one knee.

Pulling a lock pick from the lapel on his jacket, in inserted it and with a 'click,' he made quick work of it, opened the door and slipped inside.

There were countless cubicles on either side of the corridor, all of them darkened and after trying the door knobs, he found everyone locked.

The corridor eventually opened to a dimly lit warehouse interior, where he saw stacks of cardboard boxes sitting on a still conveyor belt. Waiting for what? To be opened or to be shipped out? He had to get a look inside one of them, but not just yet.

As he continued walking, the floor cleared and there stood freestanding rooms at the end of the building. This time there were lights on inside one of them.

As Solo crept closer, he could hear a voice, one that sounded somewhat familiar. Peeking through the window; he saw a child being given an injection by none other than Dr. Friedrich, the physician who'd come to the estate to treat Illya's injury.

Napoleon shook his head, continuing to watch as another rather strong looking man sat down at a table opposite a little blond boy and proceeded to arm wrestle with him.

The child won…

Another man entered the room, speaking to Friedrich, though Napoleon was unable to see his face; another man accompanying him he instantly recognized as it was Charles Kensington.

"Excellent. I think we are almost ready to begin shipping the formula for distribution. Though this is a long term plan; THRUSH can not make complete use of the children until they're older. I will go to my grave knowing this will be a resounding success."

"Well hopefully not that soon," Friedrich smiled. "T.H.R.U.S.H. will be singing our praises as we have now made it possible for them to have a grand army at our command. Children around the world will be injected with our acceleration formula and we will control them. The Hierarchy will become their new mothers and fathers and they'll be raised with unflappable loyalty to THRUSH. They will be our unstoppable soldiers."

"You are all mad! I want nothing to do with this," Charles barked at them." I helped you as much as I will by building this place for you and have kept my part of the bargain. Had I known what you were doing I would have…"

"What? Gone to the authorities?" Friedrich laughed. "Remember our little bargain? You cooperate and your wife would be spared."

"And I kept my part of the deal. It stops here and now. I'm done with you."

"Oh no Mr. Kensington. THRUSH is done with you when we say so and not before."

"You animals. You never told me about the children. How can you do this to them? They're innocent and haven't done anything wrong."

"Were innocent Mr. Kensington. You dear fellow are now complicit whether you like it or not."

"I won't do anything further for you," Charles droned..

"Oh shut up," Friedrich said, just before he jabbed Kensington with a syringe. Seconds later Charles passed out on the floor.

"That should keep him quiet for a while," the doctor huffed.

"Yes, and when he awakens we will remind him of what a precarious position in which his wife remains. Perhaps we need to bring her here for a little demonstration?"

Napoleon's heart sunk. So Charles had indeed gotten himself mixed up in one of the Hierarchy's plots. He was not completely innocent, but it was obvious he had a conscience. Kensington was only trying to protect Maude...or was he? Had he accepted payments for what he'd done? There had to have been money changing hands, otherwise how could the Kensingtons afford such a lavish lifestyle, and what the hell was THRUSH doing to the children?

It was not the time for heroics.

Solo backed off, heading away and back to the cartons. He quickly sliced open one of the boxes, finding vials of disgusting looking green liquid and grabbed a couple; wrapping them in his handkerchief and stashing them in his pocket.

He needed to get out of here fast, as above him the warehouse lights had unexpectedly popped on. The work day was beginning.

Napoleon wouldn't be able to search for the rest of the children, not with people coming into the warehouse. To find and rescue the kids he needed help, more than Illya could give; it was time to call in the cavalry from London.

Solo made his way unnoticed out and back to the car, only to find his partner missing. He heard a voice not far away…

"Will you please get off me!" It was Maude.

Making his way through the bushes he found Illya practically sitting atop a struggling Maude who was laying on her stomach.

"Having fun you two? Maybe you should go get a room."

"Don't be ridiculous Napoleon! Will you tell Illya to get off me as he refuses to listen to me."

"It was for your own good," Kuryakin finally complied. "Your presence here might have gotten Napoleon in trouble."

Both men offered her a hand up as Maude huffed while dusting off her clothing.

"You promised you wouldn't get involved," Napoleon spoke pointedly to her.

"I 's something with which both of you are very familiar, I'm sure. Now are you going to tell me what's going on?" She stood defiantly with her hands on her hips.

"Not here. We need to leave before we're discovered. Illya if you'd be so kind as to go with Maude to ensure she makes it home? I'll follow you back to the estate and catch you both up on what I found out."

He pulled his partner aside."THRUSH is going to come looking for Maude, so we need to find someplace safe for her to hide until our backup arrives."

"Backup?"

"Later... now let's hustle before we're seen."

.

Once back at the Kensington manor, Napoleon sat with Maude in the drawing room, while Illya limped, relying on his cane now as he closed the double doors..

"Did you find the children?" She asked.

"Well yes and no. Let's cut to the chase," Solo hesitated."There's no easy way to tell you this but THRUSH is going to come after you, so we need to get you out of here and to a safe place."

"Coming after me? But why?"

"It has to do with your husband."

"Napoleon will you just spit it out? What's going on?"

"Maude, Charles has become involved with THRUSH though…"

"No! That's not possible...he's a good man. He'd never join a terrible organization like that!"

"Well I'm not sure he's a member but he definitely become entangled with them."

She started to say something but this time Napoleon put a finger to her lips, silencing her.

"As I was going to say, he helped them but seemingly had no choice in the matter as they threatened to kill you if he didn't cooperate. He apparently had that building where we were at constructed for them. What they're doing in there is experimenting on the missing kids, creating super children who are immensely strong and fast or who knows what else?"

He took the vials from his pocket, showing them to her. "They're almost ready to ship these out to use on children across the world to eventually create super army."

"Oh my God," Maude gasped. And my Charles is involved in this?"

"He didn't know about the children or the experiments."

"Napoleon how did you find this out?"

"From Charles' own mouth. He was trying to sever the ties with them and That's when they decided to come after you, to use you to convince him to continue cooperate."

"Oh my poor darling."

"Napoleon I suggest we get Maude out of here quickly before any birds arrive?"Illya interrupted.

"Is there a safe place where we can send you?" Napoleon asked her.

"Well, how about the Vouchsafe, we can head through the Irish Sea and sail to the Isle of Man...Bibi's family has a retreat house there in the town of Douglas."

"Perfect. Now I suggest you go pack what you need, and do so quickly." Illya drew his Special, opening the drawing room doors with a sudden rush of movement.

He reached out, dragging the person who was spying on them into the room.

"What did you hear?" He pushed the barrel of his weapon against Cavendish's temple.

"Sorry sir, I heard everything. How may I be of assistance?"

"Maude, it's up to you?" Napoleon said warily.

"I trust him. Illya please let him go?"

The butler brushed his jacket with his hands. "I do apologize for eavesdropping but I suspected something was amiss once Madam followed you this morning. May I suggest we open the masters gun cabinet? If these people are coming they may not spare anyone else in the house."

"No, though I admire your bravery Cavendish," Maude warned." I want you to bring the Rolls around front. Pack some clothing for yourself. Tell Compton, Mrs. Dunphy to go home as well as the rest of the staff. They're to stay away until told otherwise, and please let Mrs. Dunphy know she's not being dismissed. Say nothing of what's going on here."

"And my nephew young Tom?"

"Oh my goodness, yes...he'll need to stay nearby to watch the horses, but have him stick with Mrs. Dunphy until it's safe to come back."

"Yes Madam," Cavendish nodded.

"Well planned, now I suggest a bit of alacrity," Illya said, tapping his wristwatch. "I will need the key to the gun collection please."

Cavendish and Maude disappeared to make their preparations, returning but fifteen minutes later with the basic necessities for the trip."These are the master keys sir to the entire household and the gun cabinets. I hope you won't need these?"

"Me too," Napoleon said before he escorted her and the butler outside to the Rolls parked out front.

Illya, in the meantime, contacted the London office for a backup team. Beldon gave him a hard time about it, demanding to know the details of their assignment.

The Russian refused, stating it was under strict confidence with Mr. Waverly and that should suffice.

"I suggest you not make me contact him in regards to your lack of cooperation," Illya made a bold faced threat to his old boss.

"Very well Kuryakin, but when this affair is concluded, you and I will have a serious talk regarding your attitude and insubordination."

"Yes, we will," Illya snapped back. He'd been threatened by tougher men than Beldon and wasn't afraid of any consequences.

Once Harry agreed and gathered the team, it would take them a minimum of two hours to arrive, flying from Heathrow to Manchester airport, and from there by car to Lytham St. Annes.

Napoleon and Illya prepared themselves for a potential attack, heading to the gun room where they found a surprising arsenal of shotguns, and rifles, including what looked like an elephant gun.

Funny thing, for a man who supposedly went hunting, there were no trophies to be seen around the Kensington Manor. A minor oddity to be cleared up with Charles Kensington once this whole debacle was settled...and it was going to be, one way or another.


	13. To the rescue, sort of?

Once Maude and the others were safely away from the estate Napoleon had a change of mind with his plan.

"Illya, if we confront the men sent to abscond with Maude, that'll send a signal the THRUSH operation has been compromised. If we stop their goon squad, they won't return and we can't risk it; that might spell an end to the children and Kensington."

"So what do you propose we do?"

"I think it's time we vacate the premises as well."

"Might they not suspect something when they find Maude and the entire staff gone?"

"I think I'll leave a little note addressed to Charles from Maude telling him she's gone to….let's see, to Southport to see a friend. She won't be back for a few days and has given the staff the time off."

"Works for me," Kuryakin nodded."Now all we need is a car. Did Maude leave you the keys to the roadster?"

Napoleon checked his pockets, not looking very happy.

"I'm afraid not."

"Do you know where any of the other keys are kept?"

Napoleon scrunched up his face."I haven't a clue."

"We don't have much time to look, so we best get started." Illya hobbled off, limping more than he had earlier.

"Time for a painkiller tovarisch?"

"Nyet. I need to keep my head clear until we see this through."

"Even if you can't walk?"

Kuryakin shot him one of those squinty-eye looks as he limped out of the room, though he had squared his shoulders as he fought off his discomfort.

Fifteen minutes later they still had no success in locating any of the car keys.

"Perhaps we need to make use of some alternate transportation," the Russian suggested.

"And that being?"

"The four-footed kind, or more correctly the hooved variety."

They immediately headed down to the stables, readying a pair of horses. Napoleon helped his partner saddle Cossack Sun, though he questioned the wisdom of Illya riding the horse again.

"Are you sure you want to do this after your fall?"

"Napoleon are you questioning my riding abilities?"

"No not really...the horse is a bit on the wild side isn't he?"

Another of the patented Kuryakin looks ended the discussion.

He knew Illya was one of the most talented equestrians he'd ever seen, yet every rider took a spill now and again. Napoleon touched his hand to his rump, remembering one such embarrassing fall he'd taken while riding in an equestrian competition when he was a teen.

The horse took the jump, leaving young Solo, behind...literally, as he'd landed hard on his derriere. He was bruised for weeks. Luckily his libido hadn't really been awakened quite yet; that happened after his sixteenth birthday with the family nanny, and the bruises were long gone by then.

That memory banished all thoughts of his fall from the horse, as his interlude with Helga the nanny was a different fall, more like one from grace.

Napoleon gave Illya a leg up and watched as Kuryakin slipped one of Charles' rifles into a saddle holster. Then it was Solo's turn to mount Midnight Sun, and after holstering his own rifle, they were off.

Napoleon's communicator suddenly chirped a warning, not the usual sound, but a slightly different tone letting him know the goons had arrived. He'd set up a sensor at the main gate, just to give them the advantage of a heads up.

As they moved the horses from the courtyard they spotted a green van coming up the road leading to the house.

They thought it best to move out once the vehicle had pulled up to the house, and the Thrushies went inside.

It was risky either way, if they left too soon the UNCLE agents could be spotted taking the only road out of the estate.

As the van parked at the front of the house the men approached the entrance and using the heavy door knocker, they waited. When no one answered, the lead agent had the sense to try the door handle. Finding it conveniently open; they all shuffled inside.

It was then Napoleon and Illya kicked their horses into action, galloping out to the road.

They made it away from the stables and were just about to the gate before some of the Thrushies scrambled from the house, returning to the van. They'd seen the riders, though the UNCLE agents were far enough away to remain anonymous.

None of them could make out who was riding at that distance without binoculars, and Solo doubted the Thrushmen had brought the likes of that with them for a kidnapping.

As the Thrushmen appeared, Solo looked back, seeing one of them carried piece of paper in his hand...the note he'd left from Maude most likely. They found it faster than Napoleon had anticipated.

The goons went in pursuit after the riders as they couldn't risk going back empty handed. Perhaps bringing back anyone from the household to use to gain Kensington's cooperation might due until Mrs. Kensington could be found. The boss would probably be angry.

Once outside the gate, Napoleon and Illya headed off road, disappearing into the woods. They were far enough away and completely undercover when the van finally arrived.

Several of the Thrushies got out, tramping along the tree line, but quickly gave up, knowing they couldn't follow the riders.

"We're in for it now," one said."

"Shut yer gob ye feckin' eejit?" Patsy snapped back at him.

"Hey boss," a voice came over a walkie-talkie."Found somebody 'ere. A boy...the stable boy."

"Oh that's grand, he'll do nicely he will," Patsy smiled." Now back into the van the lot of you, let's go get our hostage. Maybe the boss will let us do some target practicing with the lad. That should put the fear of God into Kensington, thinking the same will happen to his nib's wife."

"Cor good one Patsy."

"Damn," Napoleon muttered under his breath as he overheard the conversation. Luckily the horses had remained silent, munching away on some greenery, while the UNCLE agents waited under cover of the trees.

They were now really caught between a rock and a hard place. They couldn't rescue the boy Tom now as that would give them away and surely spook the satrap if the men didn't return.

Such places could be emptied out in the blink of an eye, as THRUSH was quite accustomed to abandoning ship. With the backup team from London hours away, Napoleon and Illya would be hard pressed to free Kensington and the captive children on their own, yet they still had to save Tom before he was killed.

"Best we get to the warehouse as quickly as possible." Illya said."We may not be able to wait for our cavalry to arrive.

"Reading my mind parter. Yah!" Napoleon spurred his horse on, followed by the Russian riding on Cossack Sun.

They rode hard, with Illya taking the lead on his Don horse as it was the faster of the two. Both animals had stamina but were being pushed to their limits.

They arrived, seeing the green van parked nearby and empty. Tying off the horses, Illya took but a moment to pat Cossack Sun on the neck, and whispered something to him in Russian.

Napoleon pulled his communicator. "Open Channel F- assault team."

"Slate here Napoleon. We're on our way as we made great flight time. We're midway there from Manchester."

"We have a problem Mark. They're going to kill a hostage and we have to stop it. If you ever broke a landspeed record, now is the time to do it."

"Gotcha mate. Will be there in two shakes of a lambs tail. Slate out."

"Would that would be true,"Napoleon said aloud.

The sun was beginning to set as the two agents made their way inside the warehouse. Solo having been there previously knew the layout and assumed they'd still be holding Charles in the rear of the building. It was past operating hours and as before, the lights were dim.

Illya moved cautiously behind his partner, though his ankle was hindering his movement. In his head he was screaming each time he felt the sharp pain shooting up his leg from his ankle, but he forced himself to ignore it and keep going. It was one thing to have mind over matter, but an injured ankle generally, was not be willing to take orders. Kuryakin was going to try his best to will it to listen.

As soon as they agents came closer to the rear of the building, they split up. One going right, the other left, though Solo was able to move a bit faster than his gimpy partner.

Voices were echoing around them and they could hear shouting; it was Charles begging for the life of young Tom.

"Please don't kill him! What purpose would it serve killing the lad? He's innocent and knows nothing. How can you do this? We welcomed you into our community and accepted you as one of our own. Good God man, you helped bring most of those children into this world. How can you be so heartless?"

Dr. Friedrich snickered. "Innocence has nothing to do with it, nor does his lack of knowledge. His death will prove to you how serious we are Mr. Kensington. The boy will be but a minor casualty in THRUSH's cause for world domination. The children will be ours, our perfect specimens as we create a THRUSH army. Ours is the only way to bring order and subjugate the masses. We will tell the world what's best for them, and they will obey. Now you will continue to show us support or you darling wife will be next."

"Fine, I'll cooperate!"

"Good, now kill the boy," Friedrich orders.

"NO!"Charles screamed.

One of the goons had hold of Tom, wrenching the boy's arms behind his back.

"Please Mr. Kensington sir, don't let 'em kill me? I ain't never done anything bad. I don't want to die." Tom wailed; his eyes wide with panic.

"Shut him up," Fredrich ordered.

Grey duct tape was stretched over the boy's mouth as he continued to struggle; tears now streaming down his reddened cheeks.

"Do it," the doctor ordered, not a hint of emotion in his voice. He stepped back, anticipating the blood splatter about to happen.

A gun barrel was pressed against Tom's temple; the boy giving a muffled scream to no avail as the hammer was cocked on the pistol.

A split second later the gun fell from Patsy's hand as he collapsed at Tom's feet having been hit with a sleep dart to the throat.

Charles dove forward, grabbing the boy and pulling him to the floor as a gun battle erupted. Shots rang out, some ricocheting, some hitting their mark as several more of the Thrushies went down.

"Whoever you are, you had best surrender or Kensington and his young friend die!" Friedrich called out. He was aiming his gun at them.

There was nothing the UNCLE agents could do. They couldn't risk Charles and the boy being killed.

"So much for plans," Illya mumbled as he and Solo revealed themselves.

"Maybe not," Solo whispered out the side of his mouth.

They tossed their weapons to the ground, stepping forward with their hands raised and clasped atop their heads.

"You're just not friends of Mrs. Kensington...who are you?"Friedrich demanded.

"I know who they are boss," one of the men said. "That's Solo and Kuryakin from UNCLE. I saw them once, the did in my Uncle Louie Blodgett, they did."

The doctor cursed in German." Tie them up, all of them. We must abandon the site immediately. Load all the formula into the trucks. I will see to the destruction of any paperwork.

"What about the children sir?"

"We will kill them all. Once we have emptied the warehouse, we will torch the building with everyone inside. Schnell! Move or you will die with them!"

The remaining henchmen scattered like cockroaches.

"You thought you could outwit THRUSH yet again," Friedrich said to Napoleon.

"You'll never win, that I guarantee," Solo shot back.

"Such bravado in the face of death. You UNCLE agents can be most tiresome. It is time for you to realize that THRUSH will gain the upper hand in spite of your puny efforts."

"We may die today but there will be more of us to follow in our footsteps. UNCLE will never stop until your organization is destroyed," Illya added his two cents.

Friedrich bellowed with laughter, "THRUSH is legion Mr. Kuryakin, and we will succeed."

Solo and Kuryakin listened to his continued laughter as it faded away.

"So tovarisch, what do you mean… _we may die today_?" Napoleon smirked.

"Well I was only staying true to character, as you have so often pointed out that I have a fatalistic side."

"How can you two joke at a time like this? He said we're going to die!" Charles snarled at them. "And where is my Maude?"

"Oh we're actually being quite serious," Napoleon smiled. "So Houdini Kuryakin, you got yourself free yet?"

"One more second...there," the Russian's hands suddenly appeared. He proceeded to untie Solo and they inturn freed Charles and the boy.

"Maude is fine. We sent her away somewhere for safekeeping," Napoleon said.

"Are you all right?" Illya asked Tom as he gingerly removed the duct tape from the boy's mouth.

"Yes sir, boy was I glad to see you."

"And I you," Kuryakin winked."We are going to get you out of here, and the others as well. Now you must do everything we tell you to do, no questions asked. Understood?"

"Absolutely sir…"


	14. Answers

Thrushies had several bad habits, one was always revealing their plans as they just had to brag about them, and two...they often conveniently left an agent's weapon and communicator where he could find it once he'd escaped their feathered claws.

Napoleon grabbed their Specials, their backup pistols, Illya's throwing knife as well as their communicators sitting on a nearby table, right where Friedrich had left them.

"They'll never learn," he smiled as he tossed the Russian his weapons.

"Lucky for us," Illya caught them with ease.

Napoleon opened his communicator. "Channel F"

"Slate here."

"Where are you?"

"Right outside mate. We have the birds all rounded up at least the ones out here. You're not going to believe it but had some help from a horse, believe it or not. Blood big chestnut stallion helped us corral the birds just as we got here. Darndest thing I ever saw."

Illya cocked his head with a little smile" Perfect timing Mark," he called out."

"We need to sweep the inside as well," Napoleon spoke up." Come through the side entrance and just inside you'll find some rooms.

I suspect that's where the missing children are being kept."

"Right on it and you?"

"Illya and I are going to take care of the head of the satrap. He's in the back somewhere destroying the evidence. Mark, I'm sending out Maude Waverly's husband Charles and a boy named Tom. Take good care of them. Solo out."

Napoleon turned his attention to the Russian."What did you whisper to that horse?"

"Cossack secret," Illya winked.

"Well remind me to buy your equine buddy a bag of carrots when we're all done with this affair."

The partners moved quietly to where they'd seen Friedrich disappear, that led them to a small laboratory where they quickly found him. He was standing beside a metal dust bin preparing to set fire to a stack of papers he'd just deposited there.

"Oh no you don't," Solo called, distracting the man from lighting a match. The sleep dart fired worked its charm and Friedrich slumped head first into the trash can.

"Now how did he know that is where he belonged," Illya quipped.

"His natural habitat," Napoleon grinned.

Kuryakin sat on a stool, and set about looking through the piles of paper lying on the countertop... just notes, reminders and such, nothing seemingly of importance. That was until he found a weathered leather bound notebook, its pages dog eared and yellowed with age. It was written in German, dating back to the 1940's.

"Apparently Dr. Friedrich has been had this a long time. These children are not the first he has tried to accelerate, it seems to be one of many other experiments. Until now all of his test subjects have rapidly aged and died. This will require further examination with Research and Development. Along with the samples they should be able to decipher the chemical process and perhaps develop a counter agent. If one is needed."

Napoleon's communicator chirped its call to him.

"Solo here."

"We've found all the children and they're in good condition. They seem to have been well taken care of but they're not quite right. Some are extremely strong for toddlers, others fast moving. There are a few who'd give Illya a run for his money linguistically….what did these buggers do to these kids?"

"That's for R&D to find out. The most important thing is the children are alive and safe. Out"

All totaled, there were twenty THRUSH goons taken prisoner. They would have to be interrogated to find out if any local people were involved working at the satrap...though chances are they probably knew nothing of what was taking place here. Merely cogs in a wheel working on an assembly line, loading up the vials of formula to be shipped out.

Friedreich's apparent supervisor, whose face Solo never saw the first time round was among the missing. He assumed the man had merely been visiting to update THRUSH on the project and was since long gone. Still, the interrogations might give UNCLE a better answer as to who he was.

Solo contacted Wavery to bring him up to snuff on the mission.

"The satrap is shut down, and the children have been found safe. They will most likely have to be kept under observation until the effects of the drugs they were given, hopefully wear off."

"Well done gentlemen. My niece, she is safe I presume?"

"Yes sir. She's taken up temporary residence on the Isle of Man."

"And her husband, what is his status?"

"Mr. Waverly, Charles Kensington was apparently duped into helping THRUSH, mostly financially from what I can gather. Though where his resources came from is still be determined. In the end, he wanted to break off the relationship thinking they would no longer harm Maude. He found out just how little THRUSH can be trusted."

"Have Mr. Slate and his team take the prisoners to London. I'm afraid the children will have to go as well, simple medical observation as it were. You'll see to it the families are notified their children have been rescued and are in good hands?"

"Will do sir. What about Charles?"

"I think lesson learned should suffice. Though I do plan to have a personal talk with him in the near future. In the meantime, stay with my niece and her husband for the next few days to ensure life has returned to normal for them."

"Yes sir. Solo out."

The satrap trucks were commandeered for the transport of the prisoners back to London. The children were loaded into the two rental vans in which the backup team had arrived and they were on their way.

Charles and Tom rode back to the estate in Dr. Friedreich's black sedan, with Solo behind the wheel, leaving Illya behind to stay with the horses as it wasn't safe to ride them back in the dark. A man would be sent back with a horse trailer to retrieve the horses, as well as one tired Russian.

Illya took care of the demolition work while he waited; setting his explosives and blowing the warehouse to smithereens.

"You did well my friend," he gently stroked Cossack Sun's neck while speaking to him in Russian. The horse nudged him in response.

"I am sorry I have no carrots for you, but when we get back you will be brushed and well fed, this I promise."

The horse gave a soft whinny in response.

The trailer arrived with one of Kensington's workman, and he carefully loaded the horses into it while Illya watched.

"Sir is it true the children were found?"

"Yes, they are safe and sound, but will need to be checked out by a doctor before being sent home to their families. They will be pleased to know that Mrs. Kensington was not at the root of their disappearance."

"Who was sir, if you don't mind me asking?"

The two men climbed into the cab of the truck.

"Let us say there are some very evil men in this world who will use anyone...even innocent children to achieve their goals."

"An that is sir?"

"To control the world."

"That's mighty scary," the drive said.

"It is indeed," Illya put his head back to rest.

"And who's going to protect us from them?"

"I will, and my organization," Illya half-smiled.

The driver gave the slightly built blond a once over before he laughed.

"Then you better come home to me and my Missus so's she can fatten you up a bit...no offense sir but you look like you could stand a good meal or two."

Illya laughed along with the driver. "You can not judge a book by its cover, but yes, everyone seems to want to fatten me up."

He closed his eyes for the duration of the trip back to the estate, bemused by the offer of yet another good meal.

As soon as they arrived, Illya refused to go straight to the house and instead went to the stables to see the horses were taken care of.

Young Tom was waiting there for them. Illya admired the boy's pluck, having gone through a terrible fright and here he was ready to get right back to work and taking his duties quite seriously.

"Our 'orses did well today I 'ear sir."

"Yes they did, as did you."

"If you call screaming like a girl doing well sir," the boy laughed.

"You faced death Tom and it is a frightening thing.

"Bet you never cried out like that sir. You're the one who's brave and Mr. Solo too."

"It is our job," Illya humbly said." Tom do you have any carrots handy?

I sort of promised Cossack Sun a reward."

"Ready and waiting sir as are their feed bags."

While Illya gave the promised treat to the Don horse, Tom removed the saddle and gave Cossack Sun a good curry, and when that was done he saw to the gelding.

"I heard you were back," Napoleon appeared." I guess you'll be needing this tovarisch?" He held up a cane, as the original one Illya had was lost in the frakas back at the satrap. Solo held up the bottle of pain pills as well, giving them a little rattle. "You'll be wanting these too I imagine."

He could see his partner nearly melt at that suggestion.

"Yes, it is time." The pain was evident in Kuryakin's voice.

"Come on partner, let's get you back to the house and in bed. I think you're going to need a lot of ice for that ankle, that and some major bedrest."

"For once I will give you no arguments Doctor Solo."

"Good, about time," Napoleon winked. The usually stoic Soviet dropped his guard, letting his friend help him. Rather than letting Illya walk on his own, leaning on his cane, Napoleon took charge.

He pulled his partner's arm over his shoulder, and held Illya tightly around the waist steadying him as they walked back to the house, Feeling Kuryakin relax under his grip; he could hear Illya let out a hiss as he limped.

Once inside, the Russian was immediately taken upstairs and put to bed. Solo lowered Illya down to the mattress and raised the man's legs and watched as he just collapsed back with a moan.

In the light, Napoleon could see how drawn out Illya's face was. Exhaustion took Kuryakin and he fell asleep as Solo saw to the injured ankle….it was quite swollen. Illya never woke while it was iced and wrapped.

Finally Napoleon decided to wake him, long enough for Illya to take a pain pill with a sip of water. As soon as he swallowed it, his head hit the pillow and he was out like a light.

"Sweet dreams tovarisch." Solo draped a coverlet over his sleeping partner and left him.

Napoleon was tired himself after this really unexpected affair had reared its ugly head. He shook his head, thinking how badly this could have turned out. The idea of THRUSH using children for their nefarious schemes was something to which he would never become accustomed.

Getting ready for bed, Solo closed his eyes and said a small prayer of thanks this once had turned out for the better.

Napoleon though tired, found himself unable to fall asleep. He was troubled with the stance Alexander Waverly had taken with Charles Kensington...there were questions in Solo's mind that needed to be answered. How did Charles come to be involved with THRUSH, did Friedrich lure him in? There was still the question of Charles' finances.

Where did he get the money to support this lifestyle, much less help finance the building of the warehouse for Dr. Friedrich?

Napoleon got out of bed, putting on a robe Cavendish had supplied for him days before. Perhaps some fresh air would clear his head and allow him to sleep, that and a smoke. Like Illya, he was always trying to quit, but the stress of the job kept him going back for just one more cigarette.

"Just one," he told himself as he went downstairs. He walked past the door to the drawing room and spotted Charles sitting there on the sofa, having a drink.

"Napoleon, up so late? I would have thought you'd be sound asleep after all that horrid business."

"And you as well Charles."

"I had trouble falling asleep myself. Dreadful situation with those children...how could I have been so bloody stupid to have let myself be pulled into that by those awful people?

"Good question; want to tell me about it?"

"I can...would you care for a brandy old chap? Cavendish always sees that I have my nightcap but with him and Maude being gone, I had to go in search of it myself."

Napoleon declined the offer with a wave of his hand. "So how did you get involved?"

"Dr. Friedrich. A man I've known and trusted for so long. He asked me to help finance that warehouse...he said it would be for the shipping of medication to third world countries. How could I refuse such a noble thing?"

"And how did Maude fall into the picture?" Napoleon changed his mind; pouring himself a small brandy. Tasting it, he nodded his approval.

Charles noted that. "It's Napoleon brandy by the way. I'll send you a bottle or two when you return to New York."

"Thank you, but back to my question about Maude."

"Things began to turn sour with Fredrich when I happened upon a conversation between the doctor and one of his lackeys. It was regarding a little boy who had escaped and the place was in an uproar. I confronted them and that was when the threats began. I was completely unaware there were children missing from town."

Charles covered his face with his hands, hiding his tears. "Friedrich bragged about their experiments and that's when he threatened to kill Maude if I went to the authorities. What could I do? I had to remain silent or they would have killed my darling wife?"

Kensington finally let out a sob. "I'm so sorry Napoleon, I didn't know what to do. If I'd known about her Uncle Alexander's association with UNCLE, then I might have sought our your organization's help. That is water under the bridge, I suppose. Hindsight as they say is definitely 20/20, isn't it?"

Napoleon finished his drink. "It all worked out for the best as UNCLE was alerted by someone in town, a parent whose child was taken. He asked to remain anonymous as the lives of the children depended upon the families keeping quiet."

"They threatened to kill the children, my Maude and the families as well? What sort of animals are they?" Charles asked.

"Some of the most evil in the world. They're part of an organization called T.H.R.U.S.H. it's an acronym for the 'Technological Hierarchy for the Removal of Undesirables and the Subjugation of Humanity.' Their goal is world domination at any cost. We've had an on going...shall we say, interaction with them. They're relentless, but so is U.N.C.L.E."

"That is very reassuring Napoleon, thank you."

"Charles, you should know the townspeople thought Maude and not you, was to blame for the the disappearances of their children. Her arrival here pretty much coincided with the children…"

"My God, they were blaming dear Maude? How could they think that? She is one of the sweetest, brightest and caring women I have ever known….that's what made me fall in love with her. She is like the sun bursting forth on a cloudy day. We'll have to let the townspeople know her innocence in all this, as it was I who was complicit, not she."

"I think it's probably better to not bring up your involvement for the moment. Once the children have been checked out, medically cleared and returned home they'll be a bit more receptive to the truth, as well as how you defied THRUSH."

"Do you think?"

"Trust me, I know, "Napoleon smiled. "There's another question I have to ask you, a somewhat personal one. UNCLE had to do a background check on you when we thought you were involved in this affair. There's no other way to say it; where did you get the money to help Friedrich. You have no investments, no banking records, your family business went bust with your grandfather yet you manage to live a very luxurious lifestyle. How is that Charles?

Kensington blushed. "I'll show you, but please Napoleon it is a family secret that I beg you to keep?"

"That depends but for the moment I'll say I will,"Solo nodded, though his fingers were crossed behind his back, just in case there was some illicit means by which the man had made his money.

Charles walked over to the piano, and reaching down to the keys, he tickled a couple of the ivories, discordant notes. There was a click and the mantle suddenly swung open, revealing a secret room that Solo had suspected was there.

Napoleon followed Charles inside and as a light switch was opened, the truth was revealed.

There were stacks of gold sovereigns and silver, as well as cash, numerous objects d'art as well. Sitting on a small desk were countless records of stocks and bonds.

"This is the legacy not of my grandfather but my grandmother Tilly Adnitt...she was from Blackpool. She took all the monies grandfather had made and invested them, very well I might add. When the family business foundered, it was Granny who saved the day. My father and I as well continued to make our investments but under the name of Adnitt to honor her acumen. Sadly I didn't follow in her footsteps when investing in Dr. Friedreich's so called business. I was such a fool."

Napoleon was very impressed. The Kensington wealth was legitimate, much to his relief. "No Charles you weren't the fool, you were deceived. THRUSH is very good at doing that."

The mantle was closed and Napoleon realized, having those concerns of his cleared up, that he could get a good night's sleep now.

"Charles one last question. Are you going to tell Maude about this? She has a right to know."

"I was planning to do so on our first wedding anniversary. Given my family fortune, one does have to ensure that it's secure. I needed to know that she could be trusted with the knowledge, but now I know for sure and I think I won't bother waiting until our anniversary."

"Good. Maude is a very capable and intelligent woman. Don't be surprised that she has quite a good business sense and can help you with future investments."

"Thank you Napoleon."

"Good night," the agent gave a little salute as he headed back upstairs to bed.


	15. A really unexpected turn

The next morning all was calm at the Kensington estate, that was until the staff arrived and began scurrying about, busy tidying, cleaning and cooking. Things were getting back to normal, but not quite.

Breakfast was prepared, one fit for a king as Mrs. Dunphy was delighted the Master had returned home. She was disappointed the Mistress and Cavendish weren't back yet, but anticipated their return, having been assured by Napoleon they were both fine and would be home quite soon.

The household still had to be ready for the visit by the Bishop, and Mrs. Dunphy was a bit concerned without Mrs. Kensington not being there to supervise.

Silver needed polishing, dusting and cleaning was a priority, not to mention the rearranging of the furnishings. Granted the Master was present, but a woman's touch was always better.

Charles and Napoleon were thoroughly well fed, and had to protest finally as Mrs. Dunphy tried to give them even more to eat.

She seemed excited that everything had turned out well. Much to her relief, the house and family were all safe. That apparently meant cooking to celebrate, with enough food to feed a small army.

"Please, I can't eat another bite," Napoleon raised his hand in protest. "I have to watch my girlish figure, unlike Mr. Kuryakin."

That made her giggle as she carried a tray back to the kitchen along with some of the other help, as Cavendish wasn't there to see to Mr. Kensington's needs and that of his guests."

A sizable tray of food was taken upstairs to Illya, as well as a bucket of ice and an ice pack for his ankle. Mrs. Dunphy had learned her lesson and behaved herself, though she did bring a bottle of her liniment with her just in case.

When she offered soothing salve again, rather contritely, Illya decided to accept her help. The woman proceeded to apply it, carefully massaging his ankle; she wrapped it in an elastic bandage and gently laid an ice pack on it, elevating his leg on several pillows.

"You really did your ankle in sir," she clicked her tongue.

"It was for a good cause."

"Yes, you and Mr. Solo were a Godsend, taking care of the likes of those divils." Mrs. Dunphy had been made aware of the abducted children, and the Thrushmen who were coming for Mrs. Kensington.

"That is an apt term for them. Anyone who could do such... well who would kidnap children is just that," Illya phrased his answer carefully as he was sure the woman didn't know anything about the experiments. The details of the affair were something that could not be made public knowledge, even to the parents. If that happened, the backlash might be uncontrollable, and the Command's involvement would be compromised.

"Will there be anything else Mr. Kuryakin sir?"

"No Mrs. Dunphy. Thank you for taking such good care of me." He actually smiled at her. "And this wonderful meal."

That made her blush. "Sure t'is my pleasure. Then I'll be leaving you to finish your breakfast. If you find you do need anything, or need help, please ring. I'll send someone up as Mr. Cavendish hasn't returned yet." She closed the door, leaving the Russian to his privacy.

Surprisingly, in spite of his abusing the ankle, the swelling had gone down, though it wasn't perfect. He'd still need his cane for a day or so at least.

Still, the painkillers were working their magic. Illya was not one for using such medication, but for once he did. The assignment had successfully concluded and soon they'd be heading back to New York. He could just imagine the lecture he'd be getting from Medical when they arrived at headquarters. This would be a post mission physical he would not be able to avoid but for some reason he didn't really care.

Illya wondered if it was the pills had mellowed him, especially when it came to Mrs. Dunphy, though the woman no longer fawned over him, thank goodness, so that did help.

He was looking forward to being able to move about without assistance, and started going over in his head as to the reports that would need to be filed for this unexpected affair. There'd be plenty of paperwork to do both his and Solo's; better to type it all up as Napoleon's chicken scratch had a way of annoying Mr. Waverly.

He was also anxious to find out what R&D in London had deciphered with that notebook, thought it would take some time to do so.

Dismissing that for the moment, Illya closed his eyes with a sigh after finishing most of his breakfast.

There was too much food for even his formidable appetite; eggs, toast, rashers, bangers, scones with jam and clotted cream, hot oatmeal with sultanas, and a nice large pot of piping hot tea...and she remembered, a large glass of tomato juice. He was partial to that.

After finishing his food, Illya was relaxed at last and drifted off to a well deserved dreamless sleep; his demons finally held at bay.

The rest of the day he spent in bed, remaining there except for a trip to the loo. With a few visits from his partner to check up on him, Illya buried his nose in a leather bound copy of "War and Peace." Though he'd read it as a youngster while hiding in the ruins of Kyiv, he'd never reread it again and thought now would be an opportune time to do so. *

His eidetic memory enabled him to remember almost everything he'd read, but going back and handling a book added that tactile sensation of turning a page, and feeling the weight of the tome in his hands.

'War and Peace' could have brought back unwanted memories, but he took his chances.

" _Volkov boyat'sa — v les ne khodit," he said to himself..._ b _ecause one fears wolves, is one not to go into the woods? Or as Napoleon would say, "If you can not stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen."_

Illya always faced what haunted him in his dreams, yet they were just that, dreams and not real. Once they were, but that was a long time ago. He was a grown man now who had taken a vow to help keep the evil in the world at bay, and that was all that mattered.

Still the demons, and lifeless eyes came back to torment him again and again. Time after time he'd deal with them, sending away his fears and banishing them until they became nothing, yet again.

'

Tonight he would not permit those dreams to encroach upon a good night's rest for once. He, Napoleon and the others had saved the children from an awful fate at the hands of THRUSH, and that was what mattered...still, Illya couldn't help but think of all those childen from his past who could not be saved, how could he not remember them? There were so no one alive to honor their memories but him, really.

"Rest well my friends, and let me sleep tonight," he whispered before closing the light. He let himself picture their once smiling faces, instead of the the masks of suffering they wore at the end.

The following morning the Vouchsafe docked; Maude and Cavendish were met by Compton in the rolls, and their return to the estate was a happy event.

After the excitement died, Napoleon answered Maude's many questions about what happened, though he omitted Charles' involvement. That would be Kensington's problem, and then there was of course the chat that still remained to happen between him and Alexander Waverly.

Napoleon cringed at the thought of that, as he was sure the Old Man was going to read Charles the riot act.

Still, the job was done here, and it was time to head back to the States, however, at Maude's insistence, they were instructed to stay until Saturday for the Bishop's visit.

She wanted a full table, with she and Charles, Bibi, Amelia, Vicar Heaton, Bishop Atkinson as well as Napoleon and Illya; that would make for a nice social gathering.

"No arguments now," Uncle Alexander approved it," she wagged her finger at Solo.

"Who am I to question the wisdom of your Uncle my dear?" Napoleon smiled at her.

Saturday evening arrived, as did the guests. Bibi and Amelia, were escorted into the drawing room by Solo and a slightly limping Kuryakin, still relying on a cane. Illya had insisted he come downstairs to greet the ladies in spite of his infirmity; both he and Napoleon looked resplendent in their tuxedos.

"Oh Mr. Kuryakin," Amelia held tight to his arm."I heard you had a dreadful riding accident. I was once thrown and couldn't bear the idea of getting astride a horse after that. It worried me sick and still does.

"Your Ladyship, one must always get up when one has been knocked down. Here is an interesting philosophy to consider...'there are only two things to worry about, either you are well or you are sick. Now if you are well then there is nothing to worry about. If you are sick there are two things to worry about. Either you will get well or you will die. If you get well, there is nothing to worry about. If you die, it is said you will either go to heaven or hell. If you go to heaven, there is again, nothing to worry about. However, if you go to hell you will be so busy shaking hands with your friends ...you will not have time to worry.'

"My goodness, how insightful. Dostoevsky?"

Illya gave her a sly, half smile. "No, Dunphy. It is apparently an old wise Irish saying... _Seanfhocail,_ I believed she called it.."

"Ohhh?" Amelia nodded, slightly taken aback by his answer. Her snobbery was showing."The cook told you this?"

"Yes Madam."

"Imagine that, such words of wisdom coming from a mere…"

Illya flashed her a warning glance. Lady Amelia was an attractive woman, but her attitude was a real turn off.

"Oh dear, I'm sorry. I do apologize. I need to stop thinking like that don't I? Our dear Maude has tried to tutor me on being more open minded….can you forgive my ignorance Mr. Kuryakin?"

"That Lady Amelia is a start and please, call me Illya?" He flashed her a soulful blue-eyed look.

"Illya, that's a lovely name,"she smiled, sipping her flute of champagne. "What does it mean again?"

"It is the Russian version of Elijah."

"Ah, Elijah the prophet from the Old Testament." She seemed pleased with herself that she knew that.

" I am not a religious man, but Elijah was a prophet of God whose name meant ' _my God is the Lord.'_ I was actually named after a Jewish man called Elijah who once saved my father's life. * Like his namesake, Elijah was at times bold and decisive and at other times fearful and tentative, and I learned much from him as a child, as I did my father. Sadly they both were killed during the war." *

"But it sounds as though you were given a great legacy from them through your name?" She smiled at him,"that is quite a gift."

"Yes, it has served as a reminder to me all my life."

"Illya I am enjoying our conversation very much...how much longer are you planning to stay?"

" _V gostyakh khorosho, a doma luchshe,"_ he spoke to her in Russian, translating it," _Visiting is good, but home is better._ Hopefully Napoleon and I will be returning to New York after the Bishop's visit today, whenever that is?" He looked at his watch, noting it the special guest was late.

Illya hoped his stomach wouldn't start to growl. He'd gotten used to Mrs. Dunphy's generous meals that arrived on a regular time schedule.

"It must be so marvelous to speak another language, "Amelia sighed.

"I tried learning French once but I think my tutor was too busy talking about wine and cheese among other things. I was rather young at the time and didn't quite understand the nuances...well, sadly he was more interested in mother, than tutoring me."

"And your father, if I may ask?"

"He passed when I was a young girl."

"My condolences,"Illya nodded. "Hmm, I speak French, perhaps I could give you some lessons, among other things, say in the garden after dinner."

"Oh? Ohhh?" Lady Amelia giggled." That would be lovely."

Napoleon was wiling away the time with the Baroness, but was a much faster worker that his Soviet partner. Bibi would be spending the night, and Solo had already made arrangements to visit her room with more champagne, and a supply of fresh strawberries.

Glancing over at Illya, he had a feeling the Russian was making his own plans with Lady Amelia, so the women staying at the estate this evening was rather convenient. It was good to see Kuryakin finally chilling out, and enjoying the company of a pretty woman, even if she was a bit bourgeois in Illya's opinion.

Cavendish entered the room, approaching Maude and discreetly announced dinner was ready to be served.

"Oh, well our guests of honor haven't arrived yet. We'll give them a few more minutes," she whispered. "I'm sure Mrs. Dunphy has everything under control. She does, doesn't she?"

"Yes Madam. The filet mignon is rare just as you requested, and the pheasant is near done to perfection...Mrs. Dunphy's words."

Five minutes later the doorbell rang, and the clergymen's arrival was announced.

Stepping from behind Cavendish was the portly Rector Heaton.

"I do apologize for our tardiness but we had a bit of car trouble. Perhaps one of your men could have a look at that confounded machine...oh please, beg pardon for my language."

A man standing beside him cleared his throat, calling attention to himself.

"Oh yes quite, please let me introduce Bishop Atkinson. This is Mr. and Mrs. Kensington our hosts, the Baroness Bibi Wentworth and Lady Amelia Gladstone, ahhh yes, Mr. Solo from America... and I'm sorry but I don't believe we've had the pleasure?" He looked at Illya, extending his hand in greeting.

Kuryakin was looking right past the man, staring instead at the bishop, scrutinizing the older man's face. The bishop merely nodded his greeting, shaking hands while saying nothing.

"I'm sorry my friend Mr. Kuryakin here is a man of few words," Napoleon stepped in.

"Oh not a problem, I can be a man of few words myself from time to time mind you unless it's a topic that really interests me, which I'm afraid are many. I've always had an insatiable curiosity and it isn't often that I get the opportunity to engage in real conversation. My duties at the parish take me to other topics with my parishioners...giving a eulogy at funerals doesn't exactly allow one to make casual conversation now does it?"The Vicar prattled on. making Maude and the other ladies discreetly hide their laughter behind their hands.

Napoleon sensed something was off as he continued glanced again at his partner. There was nothing unusual about the bishop; he certainly didn't recognize the man. Maybe it was his imagination. Illya wasn't always comfortable in such social situations, perhaps it was that?

"Madam, dinner is served," Cavendish interrupted with his announcement.

"Excellent, I'm sure we're all famished," Maude smiled."Please everyone if you'll segue to the dining room; we have a lovely dinner awaiting you all."

The guests followed after her and Charles and were seated at the large oak dining table, set with fine porcelain dishes, and silverware, elegantly lit with a pair of sterling candelabras. Everything was perfect, and the look in Maude's eyes said it all. She was happy.

Napoleon was glad she was able to feel that way after all the uproar THRUSH had caused. Charles was in his environment, playing the gracious host, and with Maude at his side all was finally well with the world. It was nice to have a pleasant end to such an unpleasant business.

After the Vicar said the blessing, the usual dinner chatter ensued as a spectacular repast was served. Mrs. Dunphy had out done herself as usual. Though the conversation became quite sparse as everyone ate and drank.

"Charles, I meant to ask you something," Napoleon said as his wine glass was refilled. "You have quite a collection of hunting rifles...even an elephant gun if I'm not mistaken, but I haven't seen any hunting trophies here. Yet I recall you said you were going on a hunting trip when we first arrived."

Charles laughed, "That was a mistake on my part, which I still must discuss with my darling wife. To be precise, I'm not a hunter Napoleon, my grandfather and father were. There used to be quite a number of trophies here, boars, deer heads...antlers and such, but it never interested me. Maude found them rather disturbing, so I had them banished to a local hunting lodge. The trophies of old now grace their walls."

"I was never one for hunting myself either," Napoleon agreed.

"At home,"Illya joined in the conversation," my father taught me to hunt at a very young age, though it was never for sport. It was for survival, to put food on the table and feed the family. I find this keeping of trophies rather abhorrent. Animals were not put here for the whim of mankind."

"And Bishop Atkinson, what are your feelings on hunting?" Charles spoke up, trying to get their guest of honor to join in the conversation. The man had been silent until now, simply nodding as he was spoken to.

"I have a fascination with it. There is a certain thrill in the hunt, and the trophies, if they are done well, can be part of an interesting study into the mechanics of a once living creature. I am still amazed how everything interacts. Magnificent thing, a living body. I think put here on this earth by God for us to use as we sees fit." The bishop swallowed a mouthful of wine.

"That sounds more like a scientist talking that a man of the cloth," Maude said.

"I must compliment your cook Mr. and Mrs. Kensington," the Vicar interrupted."This meal is absolutely sumptuous. Being a member of the clergy my meals are more subdued than this, boiled beef, cabbage and such. I dare say...though to look at my waistline one wouldn't think such a thing," he chortled while patting is stomach.

"Bishop Atkinson," Napoleon spoke up."How do you feel about children by the way?"

"Children...why do you ask about ch-children?"

Charles' eyes widened as the bishop seemed to stutter. He hesitated before saying it... "Now I know your voice!."

"As do I," Napoleon quickly drew his gun from its holster."You're the man in the shadows, from the the warehouse."

"What are you babbling on about Mr. Solo?" The bishop dabbed his perspiring brow with his napkin. "I have no idea what you are talking about my good man. Kindly cease pointing that gun at me? Kensington is this how you allow your guests to be treated?"

"It is you!" Illya suddenly barked, as drove himself up from his chair, sending it backwards to the floor. He drew his gun as well and aimed it with a trembling hand at the bishop.

"Illya, how would you know...you weren't there," Napoleon asked.

"He may be the man you think he is, but he is more than that. He has haunted my dreams since I was a child, but I am a child no more….Herr Doktor!" The Russian's hand continued to tremble as he prepared to shoot.

"Illya! Don't!" Solo barked.

Kuryakin's eyes reddened as they welled up with tears.

"He is the Nazi who tortured and killed so many in the… concentration camp." That very private memory he blurted out; one he'd only shared with his partner.

"You are the butcher of Sryets and you will pay for what you did to us!"

"You are mad man!" The bishop was trembling now. "Someone stop him...he isss mistaken!" The man's accent suddenly changed, sounding more German than British.

"Do you not remember me Herr Doktor?" Illya spoke through gritted teeth, practically growling the only name by which he knew the man.

"I was the one who was your prized subject, the boy who survived all your heinous experiments! The boy from Kyiv."

"You? It is you.." The man's astonishment gave himself away as he stood. He reached inside his coat, no doubt for his own gun.

Illya stiffened his arm, holding it out straight, and pulling the trigger; he watched as Herr Doktor collapsed across the dinner table.

Napoleon grabbed his partner by the shoulders, supporting him as he staggered backwards. He gently relieved Illya of his gun, as the others looked on in horror.

"I only darted him," the Russian whispered.

"I know, now take it easy partner. Things have just gotten a bit more complicated... Don't worry everyone, he's not dead, .just asleep. Mr. Kuryakin shot him with a sleep inducing dart."

Maude hung at her husband's side, relieved the bishop was unhurt, but stared at Charles with demanding eyes. He would have to explain more than he had about what had happened at that warehouse.

She found her voice. "Cavendish if you would please show everyone to their rooms, I think Mr. Solo and Kuryakin will need some privacy in taking care of this," she clapped her hands, getting the stunned butler's attention.

"Beg pardon Madam. Yes, if everyone would please follow me upstairs?"

The Rector was quite shaken, and babbling as he left the room, unsure of what had taken place and why the Bishop was being accused of such terrible acts. He'd known the man for nearly twenty-five years and thought him to be a man of God.

"Everything will be explained in due time," Napoleon said, as he hurried the Vicar along, out of the room behind the others, and closed the doors behind them.

Solo opened his communicator, contacting Alexander Waverly."

"The devil you say Mr. Solo. A Nazi war criminal?"

"Yes sir, according to Mr. Kuryakin, the man was responsible for performing unspeakable experiments on prisoners in a camp just outside of Kiev. I presume you are aware of this in Illya's background?"

"Yes, it's part of his secure dossier. No one was to know."

"He did tell me sir, in confidence."

"Very well. I will make arrangements to have this so-called Bishop picked up...we don't even know his real name do we?"

"No, only that he was referred to as Herr Doktor."

"Mr. Kuryakin, you are sure of this?" Waverly asked.

Illya, feeling calmer, leaned towards the communicator.

"I am certain of it sir. There are a few survivors of the camp still alive who can also verify this is the man. I now suspect the notebook we found at the satrap was his, dating back to the time he was in Sryets. Perhaps there will be references to me as a child in it, another link to prove his guilt."

Napoleon chimed in…"Not to mention, that I'm positive he's a member of the THRUSH Council who came to oversee Dr. Friedrich's work. The man in the shadows who was at the satrap, supervising the operation; I never saw him; I heard his voice as did Charles...recognized it as well when the Bishop finally spoke at dinner this evening."

"Very well gentlemen. I will contact the Hague as well as the proper German authorities, and your former superiors in the Kremlin Mr. Kuryakin. They have a right to be privy to this information as well. I must say this was a most unexpected turn of events. Well done both of you. I will have a team come to take… Bishop Atkinson into custody in the morning. In the meantime, sit tight until they arrive. Out."

The bishop, still unconscious, was removed to a secure windowless room, tied to a bed and put under heavy lock and key. He wasn't going anywhere. Rector Heaton was asked to stay the evening, until things could be sorted out in the morning, and once the shock of everything wore off; he'd have to be sworn to secrecy. Or in this case, hypnotized, Solo thought to himself. He had his doubts the good Vicar could keep his mouth shut. UNCLE would have to straighten things out with church authorities as well. Lots of complications that needed to be kept hush hush.

The hour was late when the household was finally quiet again, and the rendezvous Solo had planned with the Baroness had become nothing but an afterthought.

He sat now on the edge of Illya's bed beside his partner and had just poured a glass of vodka for his stoic Russian friend.

Kuryakin downed it in one swallow.

"You okay?"

"Under the circumstances, I think so. I never in my wildest dreams would have thought there would be such a grand finale to this affair. Not the capture of a member of the Council but a war criminal as well? I am still in amazement over it."

"What are the odds when you think about it?"

"Given I was one of only fourteen to survive the prison camp, yes me meeting that monster again face to face…" Illya lowered his head to his hands, his shoulders finally slumping. He let out a muffled sob...

"It's okay, let it go. It's over, and you got him. He'll pay for all his crimes thanks to you." Napoleon latched onto his partner's shoulder, holding tight.

Illya looked up, brushing away the wetness from his face with the palm of his hand. "There will never be punishment enough for his kind. They never go away, they never stop."

"Hey, neither do we. Good will triumph, I'm a firm believer in that."

"Yes, but how many must suffer and die before it does? When will it all end?"

"Stop being the fatalist. Take satisfaction this one bastard will be punished one way or another because of you and me. You have to admit, life has thrown us some really unexpected curves, hasn't it? Who'd have thought this would have happened when less than a week ago we were in Norway enjoying of all those beautiful blondes?"

"You mean _you_ were enjoying them...how many were there? Twenty?" Illya actually smiled.

"Well it was the Miss Norway pageant, and they needed guarding didn't they?"

"Yes, intimate guarding as I recall?"

"Well not all of them, there was an elimination round or two, " Solo grinned. "Hey it was your loss by the way."

Illya rolled his eyes as he removed his jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"I am all right now. You do not need to keep me company; you have a rendezvous with Bibi, yes?"

"I've decided to pass. My bed is calling me and not for anything amorous. I thought you and Amelia had made a connection?"

"We did, but I have decided I would rather sleep alone tonight."

"I completely understand. Good night partner."

"Good night my friend, and thank you." He watched as Solo exit and close the door behind himself.

Illya went into the bathroom, filling the sink and throwing some water on his face. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, suddenly thinking he saw the image of his younger self, staring back at him; his sad pale face that he hadn't seen since he was sent to the orphanage in Moskva.

Illya smiled as the vision faded, and his reflection was there again as it should be. He nodded, knowing he would sleep well tonight, as would that child who remained within him.

That was what he hoped. There were still many restless spirits who came to him in his dreams, those who needed to be avenged, and the demons as well.

At least now there were fewer of them, and some who would finally know peace at last.

,

* ref. to "Beginnings"


End file.
